Home
by LinziDay
Summary: After an accident with an Ancient device, McKay starts seeing Carson. Everyone thinks he's nuts. Until they see Carson, too. McKay whumpage, physical and emotional.
1. Chapter 1

**Author:** LinziDay  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own them. You know that, I know that, and I'm certain MGM/Paramount knows that.  
**Characters:** All. And I do mean _all._  
**Spoilers:** Straight through season 4. If you haven't seen Sunday, do **NOT** read this story.** Genre/Rating:** Gen/T (Mostly due to swearing. Believe me, you'd curse, too, if you suddenly... well, you'll see. :-)

**Description:** Remember when you were a kid and everyone on Sesame Street was convinced that Big Bird had completely made up Mr. Snuffleupagus because they never saw him and couldn't believe he was real? Yeah, well McKay learns what that feels like.

Everyone thinks McKay's gone nuts because he's seeing Carson. You know, the Carson who was blown to bits. My take on how to bring back Beckett. McKay whumpage, physical and emotional. Multiple chapters, so keep coming back!

**A/N:** I don't have a beta. . . any volunteers? Pay is lousy (nothing), but the hours are good (whenever) and you get all the bad dialogue, characterization errors, and spelling mistakes you can eat.

* * *

McKay should have known better. 

The device was shiny, sure. Smooth. Sleek. Intriguingly shaped, a lot like a small football with little divots at either end.

Shiny.

But still, he never should have touched it.

He'd been exploring the west wing of Atlantis with Sheppard, Zelenka and Ronon, cataloging some of the rooms they hadn't had a chance to get to, what with the Wraith, the Replicators, the Genii, Carson's death, flying the city to a new planet, Weir's capture, that strange crystal plant that made evil dream Sheppard, the mass memory loss….

"I'm guessing an Ancient barbershop," Sheppard announced, cradling his P-90 while Ronon covered the door and McKay and Zelenka explored the room. "Or maybe a bowling alley."

McKay held up his scanner to check for energy sources. "You said that about the last room."

Sheppard rocked back on his heals, raised an eyebrow. "So they had two bowling alleys."

"Or this one's a tavern," Ronon suggested from the door.

Zelenka, who had crawled behind a console, popped his head up. "Oh, that would be good."

"I'd settle for a Zed-PM factory," McKay said. His scanner spiked and he followed the reading across the room. "Or a really good coffee shop."

"Nah, we aren't that lucky," Sheppard said. "More like an Ancient laundromat."

"Horse stable," Zelenka said.

"Broom closet," Ronon said.

"Waste reclamation — Ooh, hello." At the far corner of the room, McKay reached the source of the EMF spike. A single piece of tech sat on workbench. "I'm getting some low-grade power readings here."

Within seconds, Sheppard, Zelenka and Ronon were looking over his shoulder.

"Shiny," Sheppard observed. "What is it?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Well why don't I just use my hidden psychic powers to glean the —"

"Let me rephrase the question," Sheppard said. "_Zelenka,_ what is it?"

"I don't know, Colonel," Zelenka said, surprised. "We'll have to analyze it in the lab."

"Thank you," Sheppard said with a saccharine grin. "See, Rodney, that's how you answer a question without being snide."

"Oh, like you weren't asking for it. 'Ooh, shiny. What is it?'" McKay mocked.

And that's when — completely forgetting that his fake Ancient gene actually did work sometimes, forgetting that shiny things were also often dangerous things in Atlantis, forgetting that his luck generally came in one form (bad) — McKay picked up the device.

It turned on with a click and a hum. He had just enough time to think "Bad! Bad thing!" but not enough time to actually drop it and run. An energy burst blew him against the wall.

The world slowed.

Sheppard and Ronan lunged toward him. Zelenka yelled. The trio dropped to the ground. A second power burst from the device, and then a blue energy wave was rippling through him, his friends, the walls, the city.

Pinned against the wall, McKay felt the device thrum through his body, vibrating his blood, his bones, his cells faster, faster, faster, until he was sure he was being torn apart.

Then darkness.

-------------------------------------

His hearing came back first, fading in and out like car radio trying to catch a signal.

". . . completely knocked out . . ."

"Dr. McKay."

" . . . lucky he didn't. . . ."

"Dr. McKay."

" . . . given him . . . ."

"Dr. McKay. Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me."

He cracked his eyes open, catching slits of light, blurry movement. He blinked, focused.

Dr. Keller smiled down at him.

"Hello," she said.

Instantly, he took inventory: two arms, two legs, one pounding headache. He was hooked to a monitor and a pair of IV bags. He felt sore, exhausted and generally like he'd been hit by a bus.

In other words, a normal day at the office.

"How long?" McKay asked, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How long was I out?"

"Barely four hours," someone said to his left. McKay turned his head slowly, trying not to anger his headache. Sheppard and Ronon stood beside his bed.

"Hardly enough downtime to make it worth electrocuting yourself," Sheppard said. "Welcome back."

"Electrocuted?" Well, that explained the hit-by-a-bus feeling.

Keller shook her head. "We're not sure what happened. That thing you found definitely hit you with some sort of power, but it wasn't nearly as damaging as electricity."

"So you weren't fried," Sheppard said.

"Maybe sautéed," Ronon said.

And by their matching grins, McKay knew they'd been waiting for four hours to say that.

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically.

Dammit if their grins didn't get bigger.

"By the way, Zelenka took the device back to the lab," Sheppard said. "Said he was going to —"

But even as McKay tried to focus on Sheppard's words, he felt himself slipping away again. He blinked slowly once, twice, and when he opened his eyes again Keller was speaking quietly to Sheppard and Ronan at the foot of his bed.

"He'll be fine," she was saying. "No major injuries. No brain damage. He'll be restricted to light duty for a few days, but I'll release him tomorrow. Right now he just needs sleep."

Sleep. Sleep sounded good.

And he drifted off.

------------------------------------------

A tug on his IV line woke him.

McKay opened his eyes slightly, torn between sleep and curiosity. The infirmary lights were dim. He watched Beckett slip the IV needle out of his arm.

Closing his eyes again, McKay drifted for a moment.

He never had to worry when Carson Beckett was doing the IV. The Scot was always easy, careful. He missed that about his friend and doctor. Part of a long list of things he missed about. . . .

Carson?

McKay's eyes snapped open.

Beckett was putting a small band-aid on his arm.

"Carson?" It came out so softly, McKay wasn't even sure he'd spoken until Beckett nodded.

"Aye, Rodney. Sorry to wake you."

McKay swallowed hard, cleared his throat. Couldn't be. "Carson?"

"Your drip was finished. I thought you'd be more comfortable with the line out." Beckett shifted the IV pole to the corner and continued in a whisper, "Go back to sleep."

And then Beckett patted his arm, his hand warm against McKay's cool skin. It was a simple gesture, one Beckett had made a hundred times before, a thousand. _When he was alive!_

McKay screamed.

Beckett jumped, startled. "Bloody hell, Rodney. What is it?"

Everything in McKay wailed "_not possible!"_ and he scrambled back over the far edge of the bed, snapping the leads that connected him to the monitor. He crashed into a medical supply cart tucked beside his bed and stumbled, landing hard on the upturned cart and its contents.

"Jesus!" Beckett rounded the end of the bed and reached toward him.

But McKay twisted back out of his reach, dislodging some of the boxes of bandages and tape he was sitting on. His breath hitched in his throat.

"Your're — you're — "

Beckett's eyebrows knitted in concern. He held up his hands, placating. "It's all right, calm down. What's wrong?"

McKay stammered and sputtered, unable to catch his breath. "You're dead." _Gasp._ "Dead!"

McKay's brain automatically clicked through the possibilities. He was dead, dreaming, hallucinating, trapped in an alternate universe, suffering from an aneurysm, going crazy . . . .

"Rodney."

Crap! He could figure this out. If only. He could. Breathe.

"Rodney, lad," Beckett crouched slowly in front of him, hands out, palms up, as if trying to coax a wary dog. "You're hyperventilating. You need to calm down. I'm fine. See? You're just waking from a bad dream."

McKay shook his head fiercely and winced as his earlier headache kicked up with a vengeance. "Not a dream." _Gasp._

McKay couldn't stand to see Beckett watching him. He squeezed his eyes shut.

This couldn't really be happening. He'd carried Carson's coffin through the Stargate himself. He watched as he was buried. His best friend was gone. _Gone_.

When he opened his eyes, Beckett was returning from the back room with a paper bag.

"Here," Beckett offered. When McKay flinched away, he left the bag within reach and backed off. "Breathe into it. Slow, deep breaths."

McKay picked up the bag, covered his nose and mouth and tried breathing normally. But Beckett crouched in front of him again, eye level, and all he could think was _dead, dead, dead, _and his breath punctuated each word with a gasp.

He squeezed his eyes shut again.

"Rodney." Beckett's voice was low, calm. "Stay with me, lad. Everything's fine. Just breath to my words, okay? Nice and easy now. In . . . and out . . . in . . . and out . . . ."

And for a moment, McKay's chest unclenched, his breathing slowed.

Then he opened his eyes and Beckett smiled at him and all he could think about was burying his best friend all over again.

McKay was trembling, his breath coming in quick hiccups. He was going to pass out.

"Dammit," Beckett said. Apparently he knew it too.

McKay tossed the bag away. Eyes wide, he leaned his head back against the wall, almost panting in desperation to get air. "Not . . . working."

"All right. Okay." Beckett moved from McKay's sight, and for a wild moment he wondered if his hallucination — or whatever he was — had left him to pass out atop a mini mountain of medical supplies. The thought didn't help.

Beckett returned a moment later with a swab and a syringe.

"Rodney, I'm going to give you something to help you calm down. Okay?"

McKay edged back, pressing himself against the cold wall. He wanted to say no, to tell the hallucination to stay the hell away, but he couldn't get any words out anymore, and then Beckett was beside him, murmuring something, his movements slow, deliberate. Designed, McKay figured, not to spook small children or mentally unstable scientists.

McKay turned away. He just couldn't look into the eyes of his dead best friend.

He didn't feel the needle go in — like he remembered, Beckett was that good — but warmth suddenly spread through his veins and the floaty feeling followed a second later. McKay didn't particularly care about his breathing anymore, but heard Beckett sigh with relief.

"Aye, that's better."

Hallucination Beckett — that was a good name for him, McKay thought, like Space Ranger GI Joe or Malibu Barbie — grasped his arm and helped him up. McKay didn't care about pulling away anymore, either.

Settling him on the bed, Beckett pressed the inside of McKay's wrist and cursed softly. "Your heart's still racing. That must've been one hell of a nightmare."

McKay shook his head, the headache moving like a wave inside his skull. "I'm telling you, s'not a dream. You're dead. You're really dead." And then, because Hallucination Beckett was frowning at him and 'You're dead' suddenly seemed like a rude declaration, McKay added, "I'm sorry."

Beckett took a deep breath and blew out the air in exasperation. "Your chart didn't say you'd hit your head that hard."

"My chart?" McKay was enjoying the floaty feeling, but he had the vague sense that he and Hallucination Beckett weren't quite on the same page with things.

"Aye, Dr. Biro took care of you after your accident this morning. Do you remember that? I just got back from Scotland, heard you were in the infirmary and came to check on you."

For the first time, McKay realized Hallucination Beckett was dressed in civilian clothes — jeans, a black sweater. He noticed a black duffel bag had been tossed on the chair across from his bed. So his addled brain had not only conjured his dead best friend but also sent him on vacation. Huh.

Beckett touched McKay's shoulder to get him to turn his head. "Here, Rodney, look at me for a second."

A penlight flashed McKay's eyes before he had a chance to protest, the stab of pain clearing the haze for a moment. When the light retreated, he found himself looking right at Beckett's face.

It was completely, incomprehensibly impossible.

The sob came out of nowhere, catching in McKay's throat. He saw Beckett tense, ready for another round of Rodney-can't-breath. Then the tears came and Beckett softened.

"Hey, what's this about now?"

"We've all missed you," McKay said.

"Oh, Rodney," Beckett said, reaching to retrieve a box of tissues from the bedside table. "I swear to you, it was just a dream."

McKay sniffed and accepted a tissue, embarrassed but also not embarrassed because whether he was crazy or dreaming or hallucinating, this was all in his head and why not tell Beckett what he'd been wanting to tell him? "It's just not the same here without you."

Beckett's eyes danced with amusement. "In your dream Atlantis fell apart without me, huh?"

McKay sniffed again, waved vaguely. "Aw, Keller's all right. Kind of young. She's just not. . . not. . . ." He yawned. "You."

"Dr. Keller?" Beckett asked, frowning again.

McKay nodded absently and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't go fishing with you, Carson. I would have, you know. If I'd known."

Beckett chuckled softly. "That's okay. Sleep now. I'm not going anywhere. Everything will look better in the morning."

"Yeah," McKay said, drifting off to sleep again, "I doubt that."

------------------------------------------

When Keller woke him the next morning, McKay was torn between abject relief and utter disappointment.

So Beckett's appearance had been a dream. McKay had been nearly electrocuted by an Ancient device, after all. Certainly possible to get a nightmare or two out of that. Or maybe it was a hallucination, a side effect of whatever drugs Keller had given him.

Either way, all in his head.

Still —

"Uh, so, Dr. Keller," McKay started as she checked his vitals. But then he didn't know how to finish the sentence. He had the feeling _Seen Carson around lately?_ would land him in the middle of various unpleasant medical tests, as well as several sessions with whatever shrink the SGC could round up the fastest.

"Yes?" Keller was looking at him, waiting for him to finish what he was saying.

"Um, yes, well, never mind," he said. "My tests all good?"

She unwrapped the blood pressure cuff from his arm. "You're good to go. Light duty for the rest of the week, no going offworld, and check in with me once a day. You'll be pretty sore for a while, but if you feel any unusual pain or get a sudden headache, blurred vision —"

"You'll be the first one I call."

She smiled. "I know."

Keller left him to get dressed.

He quickly realized she wasn't kidding about being sore. It took him a full five minutes to pull on his pants, almost as long to ease his t-shirt over his head.

When it came time for his shoes, McKay sat on the middle of the bed and gingerly pulled them on, pausing for a break before going through the ordeal of tying the laces. That's when he noticed the small band-aid on his right arm, just where the IV had been yesterday.

Funny, Keller didn't use band-aids. She preferred gauze and tape.

Carson used to use band-aids.

His gaze slid to his left arm. A puncture mark stood out stark against his pale skin.

Right where Hallucination Beckett had sedated him.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for the wonderful comments! Keep the reviews coming... they're better fuel than chocolate. :)

Also, thanks to Stealth Dragon for serving as beta! If I can get my McKay and Sheppard to sound half as good as her McKay and Sheppard, I'll be a happy writer.

And the story continues...

* * *

McKay knew he was in trouble when Sheppard stopped mid-stride, turned and regarded him seriously.

No wisecracks. No jokes. Just —

"Okaaay." As if drawing out the word would buy him enough time to come up with a real response. Then he fell silent.

McKay couldn't stand silence.

"Well?" he demanded after two, maybe three seconds. "I tell you I saw Carson last night and all you can say is 'Okay?'"

Passing them in the hall, a young Marine — McKay couldn't keep track of all their names — looked just short of freaked. He averted his eyes and hurried away.

"You're in Atlantis now," McKay called after him. "Better get used to weird!"

Sheppard started to say something, then appeared to think better of it. He shoved his hands in his pockets and jerked his head to indicate a hallway to their left. "Let's walk."

McKay hadn't planned on dropping the news about Beckett in the middle of one of Atlantis' busiest corridors. He'd intended to sit down with Sheppard at lunch and calmly, rationally, outline the events of the previous evening, expounding on various theories that explained the incident logically and without calling into question his sanity.

Instead, on their way to the mess hall, he brandished his arm and blurted out, "Carson was in the infirmary last night. Look at the band-aid!"

Dammit.

As they walked — slowly, to accommodate McKay's condition — McKay summarized what had happened the night before. He downplayed certain embarrassing aspects (the screaming, the cringing, the crying), and emphasized certain outstanding elements.

Namely that Dr. Carson Beckett was alive.

When McKay was done, Sheppard gave him a sidelong glance and nodded slowly. "Okaaay," he drawled again.

McKay waited a full four seconds this time.

"Nice. Care to clarify your current train of thought beyond one word?"

"Hmm. No."

McKay opened his mouth, eager to outline his theories, but Sheppard held up his hand.

"All right, wait. Hold that thought. I have two, no, three, questions for you." He continued without giving McKay a chance to object. "One: I don't know what it seemed like from your semi-conscious point of view, but I can tell you that you were pretty banged up yesterday. You needed adrenaline shots, IVs, three — "

"Yes, well, question?" McKay rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable with both the walk and talk of his own mortality.

"During all that, isn't it possible Keller or a nurse made that puncture mark on your arm?"

"No, I'm telling you —"

"C'mon, McKay." Sheppard stopped and turned to face him. "Lots of needles and you were unconscious for most of them. Isn't it _possible_?"

McKay huffed. "Okay, yeah, fine, sure. _Possible._ But —"

Sheppard nodded and started walking again. "Okay. So question two: Isn't it also possible one of the nurses — nurses who'd worked with Beckett — took out your IV and left the band-aid?"

McKay snorted and rolled his eyes. Sheppard seemed to take this as a yes.

"Okay. So question three." Sheppard stopped again. For a moment he wouldn't meet McKay's eyes. Then he did. "Carson died because Watson and Hewston accidentally turned on a device they found while cataloging one of the abandoned Ancient labs. Sound familiar?"

McKay's stomach did an odd little flip-flop. How could he have not thought of that?

"You're saying I hallucinated Carson and the whole, uh, incident last night because I did the same stupid thing that killed him."

"I was going to go with 'dreamed' instead of 'hallucinated,' but yeah, basically."

McKay's head was beginning to pound again. He leaned against the wall and tried to look nonchalant about it. _No one about to fall over here._

"You're the scientist, Rodney. Carson rose from the dead for ten minutes last night to remove your IV or you had a dream about him, maybe because you connected your accident with his. Which one sounds reasonable to you?"

Mostly to avoid Sheppard's gaze — and his question — McKay looked around to figure out where they were. The infirmary doors were a few feet away.

"Hey!" McKay yelped.

Sheppard shrugged and gave him a look that clearly said, "Hey, you didn't notice where we were going and I wasn't gonna tell you."

McKay glared back. "Traitor," he said.

In the end, McKay agreed to go see Dr. Keller and ask her opinion about his…. incident. Also, to get some extra-strength something for his headache.

In return, Sheppard agreed not to follow him in like a mother hen.

McKay was glad about that, right up until the infirmary doors slid shut. That's when the pounding pain in his head became a piecing pain and a wave of vertigo washed over him so completely that he sank to his knees, praying he wouldn't crack his skull on the floor when he passed out.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

The dizziness slid away and the world righted itself. The headache eased back to pounding, a softer pounding even. McKay slowly got to his feet.

No one was around.

"Hello?" he called.

It was lunchtime, he remembered. Probably a skeleton crew for the hour, with Keller eating at her desk.

As if on cue, he heard a desk chair skitter across the floor. And then a familiar doctor came around the corner.

Only it was the wrong familiar doctor.

"Hello, Rodney." Beckett said. "Back so soon?"

---------------------------------------------

McKay froze, heart thudding.

His first instinct was to gloat. He was right! He was always right. Wouldn't Sheppard ever learn?

His second instinct was to sit down, immediately and hard, because, really, something was very wrong here.

Torn between the two, he just looked at Beckett and blinked.

"Okay then," Beckett said after a moment. "What do you say we get you to a bed? You look like you could use one."

McKay let Beckett lead him to an exam bed. On the way, McKay reached an unsteady hand to his ear to call Sheppard and tell him to get his ass back to the infirmary — _Something to show you!_ — but he wasn't wearing his radio. Damaged in the accident, he vaguely recalled. Damn.

At the exam bed, McKay sat with a sigh. Sitting was good. Very, very good.

Beckett was watching him.

"I . . . uh." McKay stammered. Then he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Last night he'd been shocked awake — okay, and completely freaked out — by his best friend's sudden appearance. In the light of day he was less in meltdown mode. Or at least it was a meltdown he could work through. He took a deep breath. He needed to know what was going on and that need trumped the impulse to fall apart.

Problem was, Beckett obviously hadn't believed him last night and wasn't likely to believe him today. So how to proceed?

Then a flash of brilliance: two birds, one stone. McKay snapped his fingers and pointed to his head. "Headache."

Beckett nodded slowly. "All right. Anything else wrong?"

McKay considered this. There were oh so many things wrong right now. But he thought it best to keep the list to himself for the moment. "No. Nope. No. Nothing wrong."

"Okay. Because I gave you a bottle of Tylenol before I released you this morning. Two hours ago."

"Really?" His voice came out an octave too high and he cleared his throat to cover. "When, um, you released me?"

"Aye."

"Ah." McKay filed away this bit of odd information. It didn't fit with any of his existing theories. "Huh."

Beckett folded his arms and looked concerned. "You don't remember."

It was a statement, not a question.

McKay briefly considered lying. But Beckett was good at reading people and had always seen right through him. Plus lying could only complicate the situation, and McKay certainly didn't need another complication.

Yet he couldn't exactly tell the truth, either. _See, Carson, you died and now you're back and while I could have been dreaming before I'm wide awake now, at least I think I am, but that means that you are — _

"Rodney?"

McKay realized Beckett was holding out two capsules and a cup of water.

"Thanks." McKay reached for them gratefully, then stopped. He eyed the little pills. "Tylenol, right?"

"What else would they be?"

Good enough for him. McKay downed the pills with one gulp of water. "After last night, I wouldn't blame you if you tried to slip me something with a bit more of a sedative side effect. Like a sedative."

Beckett raised an eyebrow and McKay immediately knew he'd said something wrong. But before he had a chance to backtrack, Beckett took the empty paper cup from him, tossed it in the trash and motioned to the bed. "All right, lie down, lad. No more of this foolishness."

McKay didn't move. "What? Why? Just a headache here, Carson —"

Beckett was moving the scanner over to the exam bed.

"Rodney, last night you pitched a right bloody fit. This morning you beg off any effort to talk about it, saying you don't remember a thing. Not likely, I figure, but you seem honestly mystified when I bring it up. So I give in and send you on your way."

He positioned the scanner over the head of the bed and pointed firmly for McKay to lie down. It was clearly an order, the kind Beckett backed up with large needles when necessary. This time McKay complied.

"Now," Beckett continued, calibrating the scanner, "you come in here looking like six kinds of hell. Suddenly you remember last night perfectly well but nothing about this morning?"

The scanner started and McKay closed his eyes against the green light that skimmed over his head. Should he tell Beckett that he remembered this morning just fine, only, you know, minus him?

McKay still hadn't come to an answer by the time the scanner stopped. He sat up slowly. Despite the pain pills, the pounding in his head was getting worse again.

Beckett pulled up a stool and sat beside the bed. "I'm concerned about this memory loss, lad. And the fact that _you_ aren't concerned has me concerned."

"Oh, I'm concerned all right," McKay said, feeling a touch hysterical. _About so many things._

"I feel like I'm missing something here, Rodney." Beckett cocked his head slightly, looking for all the world like he was trying to read McKay's thoughts. "You look. . . haunted. Now that you remember last night, do you want to talk about your nightmare?"

McKay took a deep breath. "Carson. . . ."

_It wasn't a nightmare. _

_You really are dead. _

_I don't know what's going on here. _

"No," McKay said finally, looking at his hands to avoid meeting Beckett's gaze. "Not right now."

Beckett sighed. "All right. Up to you, lad." He scooted the stool back and stood. "I'll be right back. I want to draw some blood from you."

"Vampire," McKay joked automatically. Beckett smiled and clasped him on the shoulder on his way to the back room.

McKay swung his legs over the side of the bed. He needed to get more information. He needed to get Beckett talking about —

Pain pierced his skull again. Vertigo. He clutched the side of the bed to keep from pitching forward.

Then it was gone.

McKay slowly straightened, wiping his damp palms on his pants. His hands, he noticed, were shaking slightly.

He opened his mouth to call to Carson when Keller rounded the corner. She saw him sitting on the bed and stopped short.

"Dr. McKay," she said, her voice filled with surprise. "I didn't hear you come in. Something wrong?"

For perhaps the first time in his life, McKay didn't know what to say.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Okay, some of you seem to think you're smarter than Rodney McKay and have completely figured out what's going on here. Cheeky little buggers. ;0) I won't say whether you're right or wrong, but I will say _keep reading!_ Even if you've figured out some of the puzzle (all right, a chunk of it), there's more to the story.

Side note: This chapter turned out very different from what I'd originally envisioned. For one thing, I didn't plan to include Ronon. But he wandered in, and who's going to tell the big guy to get out? Not me...

Thanks again to beta Stealth Dragon. Not only have her writing suggestions been fabulous, but she also saved me from an embarrassing misspell. Thank you!

Keep the reviews coming. . . I love to hear what you all think. (Brilliant suppositions included. :-)

* * *

McKay paced along the front of the infirmary. His body ached, protesting every step, but he had too much nervous energy to stay still. "I'm not sick," he said. "And I'm definitely not crazy."

From his seat by the door, Sheppard held up his hands in a "hey-buddy-I-believe-you" gesture. "No one's saying you are."

"Really." McKay stopped, crossed his arms and looked pointedly at the door. "I'm free to go then?"

"Yeah, no."

He resumed pacing. "I know what I saw," he grumbled after a moment. "I know what happened and it was real."

"Just relax," Sheppard said. "Keller will be done reading your tests any minute now. Whatever she finds, we'll go from there."

McKay stopped stop short. Something in Sheppard's tone, his choice of words….

"Oh Christ," McKay said. "Carter's already called the SGC to get a shrink up here, hasn't she?"

When Sheppard didn't answer, McKay let out a squeak of indignation and started pacing faster.

"Rodney — " Sheppard said, but cut himself off. McKay turned to see Keller.

"Good news," she said. "I found no toxins, hallucinogens, parasites, or signs of infection in the blood tests. No concussion, tumor, aneurysm or signs of stroke on the scans. Not even any unusual brainwave activity."

"So we know what it isn't," Sheppard said. "Do we know what it is?"

"Well, there are definite signs of stress. His blood pressure's through the roof. He's jittery, distracted. He said he's had headaches and bouts of dizziness, but I can't find a physical cause for them."

"Hello!" McKay waved his hand in annoyance. "Standing right here."

"Dr. McKay — "

"Look, I know what this seems like. You're thinking I'm having trouble recognizing reality, that my accident with that device yesterday triggered some sort of, what, guilt complex over Carson?" He started pacing again. "I grieved for Carson, yes. I still miss him, yes. Who doesn't? And yeah, for a while there I blamed myself, thought there was something I could have done to prevent his death. But I'm telling you, I'm fine. Something else is going on here. And just because Carson died trying to save Watson's sorry ass, that doesn't mean I have some deep-seated fear that you two or Ronon or Zelenka or whoever could have died trying to save mine."

Keller and Sheppard were looking at him strangely. He stopped pacing.

"What?"

------------------------------------------------

The shrink was due in two days.

Stargate Command hadn't hired a full replacement for Heightmeyer yet, so it took some scrambling to find someone who could A, meet the security clearance requirements and B, deal on short notice with an unusual situation.

McKay wasn't sure whether "unusual situation" meant Atlantis or him.

From his spot in the infirmary, he didn't really care.

"Piercing headache, vertigo, and boom, Carson." McKay said under his breath. He'd given up pacing and was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds. "The first time it happened, I was asleep. Didn't feel anything. But last time. . . headache, vertigo, Carson. Then, you know, . . . headache, vertigo, Keller."

From the chair by the door, Ronon grunted but didn't interrupt.

"It means they're connected. Obviously. A biological response to a paranormal manifestation? No, jeez, Carson was real. It wasn't like I was talking to his ghost. A warning, then? A physical precursor to — " McKay snapped his fingers at Ronon. "I need my laptop."

"Sorry," Ronon said. "Can't do it."

"God!" McKay pounded his fist on the bed in frustration. "What do they think I'm going to do with a laptop?"

Ronon shrugged. "I dunno." Then a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Hallucinate a Wraith attack and set the citywide self-destruct?"

"Oh funny. You're hysterical."

It had been twelve hours since he last saw Carson and McKay protested to anyone who'd listen that he felt _fine_. Still, Keller refused to release him from the infirmary until she could find an organic cause for his hallucination or until the SGC shrink got there, whichever came first. His team members rotated four-hour shifts to keep him company. At least they called it keeping him company. It felt more like a rousing game of Guard the Crazy Man.

The infirmary doors slid open and Sheppard ambled in, yawning. He raised an eyebrow at McKay.

"How come you're still up? Thought Keller told you to get some rest."

In unison McKay and Ronon said, "Can't sleep."

"That's cute," Sheppard said. "Can you guys do any other tricks?"

Instead of answering, Ronon got up and stretched. He tapped Sheppard's shoulder lightly with his fist, like an odd Atlantis version of tag. "He's all yours."

"G'night, Ronon," McKay said.

"Night, McKay."

When Ronon was gone, Sheppard settled in the chair by the door.

"I need my laptop," McKay told him.

"You know I can't," Sheppard replied, sounding apologetic.

McKay sighed. He hadn't really expected any other answer. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he laid back and stared at the ceiling. A few moments later, the infirmary lights dimmed.

"I'm not sleeping," he said.

"I know. But it's almost one. At some point you might want to."

Everything was quiet for a few minutes. Then McKay heaved another sigh.

"No laptop," Sheppard said.

McKay shook his head, knowing even as he did it that Sheppard probably couldn't see the gesture. "It's not that."

"What?"

McKay propped himself up on his elbows and frowned into the darkness. "How can you not believe me?" he demanded.

The lights bumped up.

"I believe you, Rodney," Sheppard said from his chair. "I believe you saw Carson."

"No, you believe I saw Carson in my head."

"Well, okay, if you want to get technical about it…."

McKay sat up and stared at Sheppard accusingly. "How can you not believe me?"

The words hung heavy in the air between them.

"It's. . . ." Sheppard leaned forward. "God, Rodney. . . it's impossible. No matter how much we want to it be true, it's impossible."

"After all we've been through, how can you say that?" McKay asked, his voice rising. "Lots of things are impossible. Instantaneous intergalactic travel. Self-replicating nanites. Hell, the _Lost City of Atlantis_. All completely impossible. Until suddenly they weren't!"

He clenched his fists, breathing hard, as if he'd just made a mad dash to the Stargate with an angry mob of natives on his tail. He slowly relaxed his hands, forced himself to calm down.

"All right," Sheppard said.

What McKay heard was "Are you all right?" He nodded and ducked his head, embarrassed at his outburst. He wasn't angry with Sheppard. Shouldn't be, anyway. It wasn't Sheppard's fault he was here. Really, he was only trying to — wait. "Did you say 'All right'?"

"Come on." Sheppard got up and gestured to the door. "Before Keller comes in to check on you."

McKay hopped from the bed. "Where?" he asked suspiciously.

"To get your laptop."

"Now you believe me?"

Sheppard lifted his shoulders in a self-conscious half shrug. "I believe _in_ you. The results are the same."

---------------------------------------------

Skulking through the dark, empty halls of the city, they grabbed McKay's laptop from his lab and went straight to a large east wing balcony, the place Sheppard hit golf balls and McKay often stargazed. If Keller found them gone, she'd likely look first in McKay's lab, then the mess hall. She didn't know either of them quite well enough yet for the balcony to make the top of her search list.

It was cool and calm outside, cloudless, with a new moon. Just the kind of night McKay loved to spend lying on the deck and looking at the stars. Instead, he sat cross-legged and hunched, working with the computer open on his lap. Sheppard sat nearby, leaning against the wall.

"So, what's going on here, do you think?" Sheppard asked.

McKay paused in his typing. With no moon, the darkness settled around them like a shroud. McKay's computer screen glowed faintly, but it didn't offer enough light for him to see Sheppard's face and gauge whether he was humoring him or asking seriously. He sounded like he meant it seriously.

"I don't know yet. My physical symptoms definitely seem linked to the. . . incidents. Piecing pain and vertigo, I see Carson. Piercing pain and vertigo, Carson's gone."

"So is that causing it? Or warning you it's about to happen? Or —"

"I don't know!" McKay snapped his laptop shut and pressed a hand to his forehead. The pounding was back.

"McKay?" Sheppard started to get up, only to have McKay wave him away.

"I'm just tired," he said, flipping the laptop open again. "And frustrated. It shouldn't be taking me this long to figure it out."

"Well, seeing Carson alive and well must be a bit distracting."

McKay snorted a kind of half laugh. "You could say that."

He heard Sheppard shift. Probably leaning against the wall again, or maybe stretching out.

"So, uh, how'd he look?" Sheppard asked.

"Who, Carson?"

"No, the Jolly Green Giant. Yes, Carson."

"He looked fine." McKay frowned at his laptop. He couldn't find the data he needed. "He looked like he always looked."

"No missing arms? Singe marks?"

McKay looked over, annoyed. "What are you…? No. No missing limbs. It was like the accident never happened."

"Huh." The word was tinged with wistfulness.

McKay softened. "Yeah."

After a moment, he stopped typing and looked up at the stars. "Actually, I remember he said he'd just gotten back from Scotland. A vacation, I think."

"That's nice. Good for him," Sheppard said. He sounded tired.

McKay turned his attention back to the computer. "You know, I —"

A blinding pain sliced through his skull and the world bobbed and weaved around him. He thought he heard Sheppard say something, but a strangled cry rose from McKay's throat, drowning out whatever the other man had said.

And then, just as suddenly, everything cleared.

McKay pushed the computer off his lap and leaned back on his hands to catch his breath. A hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"Hey, just me, McKay," Sheppard said, sounding concerned, more tired. "You all right?"

He nodded, a little more shakily than he would have liked.

"C'mon." Sheppard helped him to his feet. "Let's get you back to the infirmary before Keller starts looking for us."

A light turned on in the corridor.

"Too late," Sheppard said.

Things were clicking together slowly for McKay, but they were clicking. He put a hand on Sheppard's arm to stop him from going inside. "Hey, you might want to wait a — "

Beckett appeared in the doorway.

"Are you two daft? What part of 'restricted to the infirmary' didn't you understand?"

Sheppard's jaw dropped and he stumbled back against McKay.

"Shit," he said. And then because once didn't seem to be enough, "Shit."

McKay couldn't help saying it. "Told you so."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** You like it. You really like it. :0) Needless to say, I am giddy with your reviews. I'm trying to respond to each one, but I also wanted to get this chapter written and up while I was still on vacation. So the responses took a backseat. (Also, it was my birthday today. But I spent part of the day writing, so that's not really an excuse) I'll respond tomorrow. Promise.

Also, because the afore mentioned vacation is coming to an end, my new chapters will be less frequent than they have been. I'll try to get them up ASAP, but it may take a week or so in between. I'm sorry. Oh, but you know what helps spur me on, even after long hours at work? Reviews. Well, technically, reviews and caffeine. But I have a healthy supply of caffeine. Keep the reviews coming!

Again, don't wander away after this chapter. There's more to the story! As my fabulous beta Stealth Dragon put it: the mystery may be solved, but the dilemma isn't.

* * *

The corridor's lights backlit Beckett, lending him an ephemeral, otherworldly glow. His glare, however, was quite real. 

"Come on," he said, sweeping his arm to usher them. "Get inside, the both of you."

McKay retrieved his laptop from the deck, tucked it under his arm, and moved inside with Sheppard. Even as they blinked against the sudden brightness, McKay noticed how Sheppard's wide eyes never left the doctor.

Beckett wore a navy blue bathrobe over dark pajamas, with slippers on his feet. He held a laptop in one hand and used the other hand to gesture emphatically.

"What do I need to do, Rodney, tie you to the bed? I know you're having a tough time of it right now, but thought I could trust you to stay put when I said so. And Colonel, you just, what, decided his traipsing around Atlantis at all hours was a good idea?"

Still wide-eyed, Sheppard opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.

Beckett sighed crossly and motioned for them to start walking. "Let's go."

McKay and Sheppard headed toward the infirmary, Beckett trailing behind them like a sheepdog. Every few seconds, Sheppard glanced back uneasily. After a few yards he ducked his head and whispered edgily, "This is so. . . so. . . ."

"Insane?" McKay supplied in a matching whisper. "Yeah, welcome to my world."

Behind them, Beckett had revived his lecture, but in hushed tones as they moved through the sleeping city. McKay caught only snatches: "Daft buggers," and "… bad enough without running off…." and "Bloody well better stay there."

The lights were on only in the corridors between the balcony and the infirmary. If Beckett had come looking for them, McKay realized, he didn't take many detours. He knew them too well to look elsewhere. _Knows _them too well. Christ. It was almost enough to make him dizzy again.

"So, uh, Carson," Sheppard spoke up, forcing nonchalance in his voice even as his glance back at the doctor was tense. "How are you?"

"Oh I'm just lovely, lad. I enjoy arriving at the infirmary at one in the morning to find my patient missing. And you?"

"Fine, fine," Sheppard said, ignoring the sarcasm. He slowed his pace so Beckett had little choice but to walk with them rather than behind like a guard. Moving beside his friends, the doctor's bluster deflated.

"I went to the infirmary to tell you I'd changed my mind. Your computer," Beckett said, handing McKay the laptop he was carrying. He eyed the other laptop in McKay's hands. "Though I see you procured one on your own."

McKay frowned and shifted the machines in his arms so he could look at them side by side. They were identical. Not just the same kind of laptop, the _same_ laptop. Down to his nameplate and the small dent he'd put in the side when he dropped it last month on PX1-124.

_Oh_.

A piece of the puzzle suddenly clicked into place.

_Oh crap._

"Say, Carson," Sheppard said casually, oblivious to McKay's epiphany, "you do, uh, know you're dead, right?"

McKay jolted and dropped both laptops with a heavy clatter that resonated through the hall. The trio stopped and stared at each other.

Beckett looked distressed. "Not you too now."

"Sheppard," McKay hissed, quickly gathering up the laptops, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Someone had to bring it up," Sheppard hissed back.

"No, someone _didn't._ I told you, I tried when I first saw him. He didn't believe me."

"You also said you were doped to the gills. I wanted to try again."

Beckett raked a hand through his hair and looked back and forth between them. "Bloody hell. Maybe I was wrong. It's biological and contagious."

"Yes, well," McKay said, ignoring Beckett, "it just so happens he's not dead."

"That's a relief," Beckett said, looking anything but relieved. "Come on, back to the infirmary."

Glaring at each other, Sheppard and McKay didn't move.

"He's not dead? That's funny because I have a very vivid memory of him being blown to bits," Sheppard said, frustrated.

"Yes, Carson is dead —"

Beckett opened his mouth to say something.

" — but he's not our Carson."

Beckett's jaw slackened. No words came out.

McKay shoved the twin laptops into Sheppard's hands. "Look at this. You and I retrieved one of these from my lab not thirty minutes ago. Beckett brought the other one from. . . ."

He looked at Beckett to fill in the blank. It took the doctor a second to find his voice.

"Your lab," Beckett said. "A half hour ago."

"My lab," McKay echoed with delight. "Same time."

Sheppard looked over the computers and frowned. "So they're similar. Atlantis is filled with laptops."

"Not similar," McKay said, holding up a finger and grinning triumphantly. "The same. Exactly the same. Each-from-their-own-dimension the same."

"So we are in —" Sheppard started to ask.

"Or he's in ours." McKay finished.

Sheppard squinted at Beckett, analyzing him from a new perspective. He didn't find whatever he was looking for. He shook his head, dissatisfied. "Are you sure?"

"Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes," McKay said. "An alternate universe explains everything that's been going on."

"Well it doesn't explain everything to me!" Beckett exclaimed, exasperation edging his voice.

That's when McKay realized he'd have to deliver the news of Carson's death… to Carson.

"Uh." McKay glanced at Sheppard, who appeared just as lost for words. "Well, you see you, uh, that is to say not you, but another version of you, our version of you, in fact, last year — "

"Died, yes, I got that, Rodney. 'Blown to bits' as Colonel Sheppard so eloquently put it."

Sheppard winced. "Sorry, doc."

"That's okay." Beckett waved off the apology. Concern, not offense, played across his face. "What I don't understand is why you're convinced there's another dimension involved here. Because from my point of view everything is exactly the way it should be, except your mental health. I'm about ready to chalk this up to a second mutation of the Pegasus Galaxy chicken pox or some bloody thing and quarantine the both of you."

McKay pointed to the laptops in Sheppard's arms, only to be interrupted.

"I need more proof than similar computers," Beckett said.

"Not similar," McKay insisted. "The _same_."

Beckett crossed his arms. "Humor me."

McKay sighed, frustrated. He knocked a fist against his pounding forehead. Why didn't they have a protocol for this kind of thing? A password, something. _Did you say 'Piccadilly rhubarb'? Oh, well then, yes, I believe you're from another dimension_….

Ronon saved him from the need to convince anyone.

He came from the direction of the balcony, trudging around the corner and down the long hallway toward them. When he caught sight of McKay and Sheppard, he shrugged apologetically.

"Keller asked me to help find you. I figured you'd gone after the computer so I wandered around for a while, but she's bound to. . . ." He noticed Beckett and stopped in his tracks. "Whoa."

At the same moment, Beckett's arms uncrossed and fell to his sides. "Oh, hell."

The two men stared at each other. After a beat, Beckett, a shade pale and eyes glistening, shot glances at McKay and Sheppard.

"Ronon left with his Satedan friends weeks ago," Beckett said, his voice breaking. "He was killed by the Wraith."

Before anyone had a chance to respond, Beckett moved to Ronon and clutched him a hug. "It's good to see you, son," he said.

For a split second, everything seemed. . . dare McKay say it. . . right.

If it hadn't been for the sudden, blinding headache and the way the world spun, tilting around him, he would have been happy to stand in that hallway forever.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the wave of vertigo and clenching his teeth against the nausea that came with it, McKay forced out "Tell your Rodney it's imperative — "

But everything cleared before he could finish. McKay opened his eyes.

The hallway was dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Sorry-- it's taken me a couple of days longer to post this than I'd planned. On the plus side, this chapter is quite long. :-)

As always, thanks go to beta Stealth Dragon!

**Totally unrelated:** If you get a chance, check out the First Line Challenge in the SGA forums. (Page 3 of the forums list) I started the challenge a while ago, but nobody's taken up the gauntlet. C'mon... someone must be intrigued by first lines that offer, among other things, oddly moving blue Jello. :0)

Enjoy...

* * *

"Dammit!" 

It was too dark. McKay fumbled about for the wall, for a person, but his fingers only brushed air. His blood whooshed thunderous in his ears and his chest clenched in panic.

No Sheppard.

No Ronon.

No Carson.

Then, slowly, the lights bumped up, pulling away the darkness. Sheppard and Ronon stood exactly where he'd left them.

"Oh," McKay said, a little out of breath. "Good."

"Thought you'd slid down the rabbit hole alone?" Sheppard asked.

"No." McKay scoffed with a bravado he didn't feel. "No. I. . . no."

"Well said." Sheppard tried a small grin, but it faltered and fell flat.

The lights rose to full strength, allowing McKay a good look at his friends. Ronon stood firm, arms crossed across his broad chest — not an unusual stance for the former Runner — but his fists were tight, the vein in his neck stood out too stark. Sheppard tucked the twin laptops under his arm, his face at once pale and shadowed. He shook his head as if to clear it.

"Bit of a kick," Sheppard said, acknowledging McKay's questioning look. "Worse than the balcony."

"You felt it out on the balcony?" McKay asked, surprised. "I know you're Colonel I-Don't-Do-Pain, but I would have thought you'd mention —"

"An ice pick through my skull and the feeling I'd taken a turn in the spin cycle? I said 'Ow.'" Sheppard shifted the laptops. The color was slowly returning to his face. "Also a few not-so-G-rated words."

McKay crossed his arms. "I would have noticed that."

"Well, at the time you were doubled over, whimpering. I don't think you heard me." This time the grin was real.

"I felt it, too," Ronon said before McKay had a chance to retort. "Happened a few minutes after I went looking for you. I thought I was just tired."

McKay gaped at him. "_That's_ what you feel like when you're tired?"

Ronon shrugged. "Very tired."

McKay didn't even want to think about how much pain it would take to get the big guy to say a four-letter word. The piercing headache and vertigo were certainly more than enough to make him want to —

"Hey!" McKay yelped. He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Wait a minute, you two felt all that _after_ I told you what happened to me. And you still didn't believe me? Spectacular amounts of pain didn't clue you in?"

"You said you were seeing a dead man, Rodney," Sheppard said, unfazed. "I had a headache. Funny, how I didn't connect the dots."

"Tired," Ronon reminded him simply.

McKay narrowed his eyes, glaring at them both. He held out his hand and wagged his fingers. "Gimme the laptops."

Sheppard handed them over and, in unspoken agreement, the trio headed toward the infirmary. They walked in silence, deferring to the sleeping city, though Sheppard called up the lights as they went. It was good not to have to skulk.

"Hey, what's imperative?" Sheppard asked suddenly. "Before we left, you were trying to get Beckett to tell your counterpart that something was imperative."

"I need to know what's been going on from their point of view. I need to know what he's been experiencing," McKay said. "I've only got half the story here."

"Two McKays are better than one," Sheppard joked.

"As long as he doesn't come here for a visit, hell yeah."

They were several yards from the infirmary door when Sheppard started chuckling, low and deep and more genuine than McKay had heard in a long time.

"What?" McKay asked, his own smile responding to Sheppard's. "What's so funny?"

Sheppard shook his head in amusement and twisted his mouth around a borrowed brogue. "'Oh I'm just lovely, lad. I enjoy arriving at the infirmary at one in the morning to find my patient missing. And you?'" Sheppard's chuckles turned into a full-out laugh. "He was so pissed."

McKay and Ronon looked at each other, unsure whether to be bemused or amused or worried.

"Remember that time Beckett caught me sparring with Teyla while I had three cracked ribs?" Sheppard continued. "Jerked me back to the infirmary so fast I thought the Daedalus transported us."

"Oh, oh," McKay said, snapping his fingers. "And remember Beckett trying to do Ronon's stitches?"

"Threatened to stun me with my own weapon if I didn't sit down." Ronon snickered.

Sheppard crowed, "Then that time with the —"

McKay nodded enthusiastically. "After he didn't — "

Ronon's eyes lit up. "And then he did."

McKay was fairly bouncing with laughter at the memories. "Wee baby turtles!" he exclaimed.

And then the three of them were roaring, all rowdy snorts and hunched shoulders and unmanly giddiness that bubbled up out of nowhere and couldn't be controlled. (Though Ronon came close.)

After a minute, Sheppard pressed a palm against his side, pushed his other palm against the wall and leaned into it, the stance of a runner who needed to catch his breath. He hung his head, the smile still on his face. "We saw Carson," he marveled. "We talked to him."

"Not our Carson," McKay reminded him, sobriety returning.

"No, not our Carson," Sheppard agreed, pushing back from the wall. "But Carson."

More composed, the trio continued the rest of the way to the infirmary. Sheppard shoved his hands in his pockets, shook his head in amazement as they walked. "I never thought I'd ever, we'd ever . . . ." His voice trailed off.

They were all silent for a moment, reflective.

Then, at the door, McKay said lightly, "Told you so."

Sheppard rolled his eyes even as a grin twitched at the corners of his lips. "You already said that."

"Yes, well, Ronon hadn't heard it yet."

-------------------------------------

Dr. Keller didn't believe them.

Like Beckett, "similar computers" weren't enough to convince her. McKay, Sheppard and Ronon vouched for each other's stories, but also like Beckett, that only made her think the problem was biological and contagious and, oh yes, did someone say quarantine?

"Damn voodoo doctors," McKay muttered to Sheppard while Keller was busy getting a blood sample from Ronon. "Parallel universes are _science_, people."

Slinging an arm behind his head, Sheppard stretched out on one of the exam beds while they waited for Keller to finish with their test results. Ronon slouched in a plastic chair beside the door, his legs propped up on another chair.

Pacing beside his exam bed, McKay drummed his fingers on his thighs and started hatching an escape plan. First he'd have to get Ronon to distract Keller. Pretend to faint, he'd tell him. Just don't, you know, fall on her. No, wait, maybe Sheppard would be the better distraction. He'd probably have to be bleeding, though. Sheppard would never pretend to pass out. Unless, of course… but then they'd all have to….

So when Samantha Carter walked in, McKay nearly jumped for joy. Finally, someone who spoke his language.

"Parallel universe," he said. He pointed to the twin laptops stacked on the foot of his bed. "Proof."

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not — McKay thanked god — skeptical.

Carter examined the outside of the laptops and whistled softly, impressed. She flipped them open and started scrolling through directories. "So you've been ping-ponging between here and another dimension?"

"Or the other universe's Carson has been," McKay said. He resumed pacing but didn't take his eyes off Carter at the machines. "Carson was carrying the laptop, so he could have brought it with him. I haven't determined yet whether we were there or he was here."

"We were there," Ronon said matter-of-factly from his chair.

McKay and Carter whirled to look at him. Sheppard sat up. Ronon appeared unimpressed by the attention.

"Saw a mural while I was wandering around. Looked like the Athosian kids painted it. I'd never seen it before." He shrugged. "Didn't think much about it at the time."

With effort, McKay bit back several sarcastic comments. Instead he pinched the bridge of his nose and shot Ronon a pained look. "Okay. Then if Conan's right, we were there."

"That Ancient device you activated a couple of days ago?" Carter asked, returning her attention to the laptops.

"I'm assuming," McKay said. "Unless the kitchen staff has started adding tachyons to the Jello."

"Some kind of inter-dimensional transporter?" Carter guessed, enthusiastic.

"Or it thins the barriers between dimensions, allowing people to walk through," McKay said, excitement creeping into his own voice.

"Specific access points around the city?"

"Individual choice?"

"Controlled, then."

"Ooh, perhaps. If we can — "

Clearing his throat loudly, Sheppard laid back on his bed. "Wake me when you two are finished."

Carter gestured at the laptops in front of her. "I think we are finished here for the moment. It'd take some time to go through these completely, but everything I'm seeing is identical, down to serial numbers, program codes, one odd logarithm error — "

McKay gasped and grabbed one of the laptops. "There is not."

Carter pointed to an equation on the screen. McKay made a quick mental calculation. He huffed and shoved the machine into Carter's hand.

"Zelenka borrowed my laptop a couple of weeks ago when his went wonky. He must've been working on that."

Sheppard shot up. "Zelenka."

"He was with us when we discovered the device," Ronon said.

Carter tapped her radio. "Carter to Zelenka."

Silence.

"Carter to Radek Zelenka. Please respond."

More silence.

"Could be asleep," Sheppard said slowly.

"Could be in his lab without his radio," Ronon said.

"Or," McKay said, his heart sinking, "he got left behind in the other universe."

--------------------------------------------

Sheppard overrode the security lock on Zelenka's door when the scientist didn't answer.

No Zelenka.

The room was neither too clean nor too messy, too stark nor too decorated. Framed family photos — at least McKay assumed they were family — were scattered throughout the room. Books — lots of sci fi, several physics texts and the occasional Dean Koontz novel — were stacked neatly on the bedside table, a pile of crumpled peanut butter Powerbars wrappers tossed in front of them. The bed itself was rumpled, the blankets tossed aside, a pillow on the floor. There was little else of note. Ironically, it was the "little else" that gave McKay hope.

"Nothing," Ronon reported, coming from the bathroom.

"Laptop's gone," McKay said, jerking his chin at the desk.

"The lab?" Sheppard asked.

It wouldn't be the first time Zelenka had worked through the wee hours of the morning. McKay nodded and they were moving again.

"We got back without trying." Sheppard noted on the way. "Is there a real possibility that Zelenka got trapped over there?"

"Depends. We may be bouncing back and forth because that device did something that allows us cross dimensions when we hit specific access points around the city. Think of them as dimensional doorways. It happened to me twice in the infirmary, so that could indicate access points." McKay sighed. "Or we could be getting jerked here and there randomly, regardless of where we're standing at the time."

"So we're rooting for random," Sheppard said. "Random means he got pulled back here no matter where he was."

"Um. . . yes"

Sheppard groaned. "I don't like the sound of that pause, Rodney."

"No," McKay hedged, "random is good for Zelenka right now."

"But?" Ronon asked, wary.

"But ultimately it's bad for us. For all of us, including Zelenka, if he's involved in this mess. Random means we don't have any control over when it happens, where we are when it happens, what we're doing when it happens."

"So we'll just have to stop it from happening," Sheppard said.

"And by 'we,' of course, you mean. . .?"

"Everyone who's a genius scientist here, please raise your hand." Sheppard made a show of looking around, then cocked his head at McKay.

"Oh nice. Very nice," McKay said. "I have a feeling stopping it is going to be easier said than done."

Sheppard nodded sagely. "It always is."

-----------------------------------------------

The lab was empty.

"I was sure… well, I'd hoped… dammit," McKay said, standing in the doorway.

As they had in Zelenka's room, the trio fanned out.

"Hey, his laptop's here," Sheppard said, pausing at Zelenka's workbench. "Radio, too."

Ronon cupped his hands around his mouth, tipped his head back and shouted, "Zelenka!"

McKay jumped, startled so hard his teeth rattled. "What the hell! That's not going to do any —"

The lab doors swooshed open and Zelenka walked in.

"— good." McKay finished lamely.

Zelenka peered over his glasses at the trio. "Uh." He shifted the coffee mug he was holding from his left hand to his right. "Yes?"

"Have you been here all night?" McKay demanded. The words came out harsh, more harshly than he meant, and he saw Zelenka take a half step back.

"I, yes," Zelenka stammered. "I was working on the —"

McKay waved the explanation away. "And you never, uh, left?"

"A couple of minutes ago, for coffee," Zelenka said, holding up the mug as proof. "Why?"

"Any dizziness? A sudden ice pick-like headache?" Sheppard asked.

"No." Zelenka nudged his glasses back against his face and looked from McKay to Sheppard to Ronon and back to McKay. Confused. Worried. More than a bit suspicious. "Why? What is going on?

McKay exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He pulled up the closest stool he could get his hands on and sat down. "You know how I was acting —" McKay swirled his finger next to his temple — "Yes, well, turns out not so crazy. That thing I found the other day has been . . . shifting . . . me to another dimension. A dimension in which Carson is alive and well."

Zelenka looked at Sheppard and Ronon. "Really?"

McKay sat up straight, galled. "Yes, really! What're you asking them for?"

Sheppard snickered. "Seeing a dead man doesn't exactly make you a trusted source of information, Rodney." Then to Zelenka: "Yes, really."

"They saw him, too," McKay said, feeling uncomfortably like a tattling five-year-old.

Zelenka's glasses slid down his nose again. "They saw Dr. Beckett?"

"Four hours ago," McKay said. "Sheppard and I shifted while we were on the big balcony. Ronon was roaming the city. We met in the hall on our way to the infirmary."

"Why us and not Radek?" Ronon asked.

"Hovno," Zelenka whispered. He groped for his own stool, pulled it close and sat down. "Oh, this is just great."

"What?" Ronon asked. "What'd I say?"

"He just realized the question isn't 'Why not Radek?' The question is '_When _Radek?" McKay said. He made the connection a split second before he saw understanding dawn in Zelenka's eyes. "That device radiated power in waves. Those waves hit me first, then you guys, then Zelenka."

"That's why you saw Beckett before us. You crossed over to the other dimension first. Then us," Sheppard said, finishing the line of logic. "Next, Radek."

"Kurva drat," Zelenka muttered.

McKay stood. "Sheppard said you'd taken the device back to the lab. What'd you do with it?"

Zelenka waved his hand vaguely toward the back of the lab. "Storage unit marked 'Dangerous things that almost made Dr. McKay go boom.'"

Ronon chuckled at Zelenka's joke until he saw McKay shaking his head unhappily. "He's not kidding," McKay said

He led Ronon and Sheppard to the back, to a blue steel storage unit that stood as tall as Ronon and as wide as two doorways. On it, someone had taped a cardboard sign marked in blocky, red magic marker letters: _Dangerous things that almost made Dr. McKay go boom. _

"Do I dare ask how many 'things' you have in there?" Sheppard asked as McKay entered his security code on the keypad beside the unit.

"Too many," McKay answered.

The door slid open to reveal ten vertical shelves each lined with ten steel boxes. Every box had a label.

"A veritable wall of things that almost killed me," McKay groused, running his finger along the boxes as he read the labels, searching for the right one.

"How do you know what Radek labeled it?" Ronon asked.

"We do them by date." McKay sighed and closed his eyes for a second. This part of the lab was poorly lit and reading in low light was giving him a headache. "When two items have the same date — yes, before you ask, it's happened twice in the same day — we add the time it was logged in."

Sheppard cleared his throat. "Remember that whole ice-pick-to-the-head feeling I was telling you about?"

"Yeah." McKay scanned labels on the fifth shelf. Sixth shelf. Seventh. . . ah! He pulled a box out of the unit and carried it to a nearby table to open.

"I'm starting to feel it again," Sheppard said.

McKay's head snapped up. "You can't be."

"Me too," Ronon said.

"No. No, no, no, no, no. You can't." McKay felt panic rising in his throat. "I've been shifting every twelve hours. It's only been, what, four since the last time."

Sheppard squeezed his eyes shut and placed a hand on the table to steady himself. "You don't feel it?"

"Yes, of course I feel it — " That's when he realized he _did_ feel it. Not a headache from reading in low light, but a sharper, stabbing pain. And here came the vertigo.

Battling against the dizziness, McKay flung open the top of the box. The device was there, nestled snuggly in foam inserts. McKay reached in. The world tilted.

Like a mirage, the device shimmered and disappeared.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** In the last author's note, I meant to say thank you to Silverthreads, who used the phrase "ping-ponging" to describe the team's situation in a chapter 4 review. I loved it so much I put it in chapter 5. (To become Sam Carter's phrase, no less!)

Again, thank you to everyone for all the wonderful feedback. I'm absolutely thrilled that you're enjoying the story. Hope Ch. 6 lives up to expectations. Let me know what you think.

Oh, and one more thing: Carson's back. :-)

* * *

The pain receded and the spinning room slowed to a stop. In some recess of his brain, McKay noted it all. But that blissful absence of pain — and the dimensional shift it signaled — wasn't the all-out attention getter it once was. McKay stared at the empty box. 

"Did we shift?" Ronon asked, his voice drifting from somewhere behind McKay.

McKay didn't turn. He stared at the empty box.

"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard said, his voice closer than Ronon's and moving closer. "Are you all right?"

A hand grasped his shoulder. Sheppard, McKay figured idly. He knew he should say something. Do something.

He stared at the empty box.

Suddenly, his vision filled with a waving hand and McKay lurched backward with an undignified "Gah!" Sheppard grabbed his shoulder to keep him from stumbling back and falling on his butt.

"Rodney." Sheppard shook him lightly. "Hey."

Numbly, McKay turned to look at him. He blinked, drawing the world into focus. In front of him, Sheppard frowned, concerned.

McKay slowly smiled.

"That was. . . so. . . cool!" he exclaimed, shrugging Sheppard's hand off his shoulder and tearing around the table to grab a tablet PC from a hook on the wall. "That was the first time I've kept my eyes open. I know what we look like when we shift now, what we go through."

"Jesus, McKay!" Sheppard said, blowing out a breath in frustration. "I thought you were having a seizure or something."

"No, fine," McKay mumbled, waving the concern away with one hand while he scribbled frantically on the tablet with the other.

After a few moments, he became dimly aware that Sheppard and Ronon were having a conversation. He glanced up to see Ronon looking at the _Dangerous things that almost made Dr. McKay go boom _sign, which was now printed in swirly blue letters rather than blocky red ones. At the table, Sheppard was cautiously tipping the steel storage box on its edge and peering inside.

"It's empty," McKay told him.

Sheppard let the box fall back to the table with a thud. "So I see. That good or bad?"

"Bad. Good." McKay scribbled a new thought on the tablet. "Bad."

"Well, that's clear," Ronon said.

McKay looked up with a huff. Why did everyone always want an explanation right when he was inspired? "Bad because the device stayed in our universe when we shifted. It's there and we're here, which means I'll have to wait to examine it until we return. That is, assuming things continue as they have been and we _do_ return." He jotted down another thought. "Good because if I'd gotten my hands on that thing and brought it with us, it would have been, well, let's just say 'catastrophic.' Bring a thing that jumps you to a parallel universe _with you_ to a parallel universe and you'll just keep shifting forward, not back. Not unless you know how to work it. Right now I think it's acting as a sort of homing beacon for us in our universe. Without it there, we never would have gotten home."

Sheppard blanched. "Then why the hell did you reach in there to take it?"

McKay shrugged a little, embarrassed to admit: "I didn't think about it until after we'd already shifted."

Sheppard heaved a long-suffering sigh. "And what's the second 'bad' for?"

"My hands were inches from the device when we shifted. If we're crossing into this universe at specific access points — dimensional doorways — it would have gone with us. We're definitely shifting randomly."

"Getting jerked here and there no matter what we're doing or where we are at the moment," Sheppard said.

McKay rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you for defining 'random.'"

"Then shouldn't Radek start shifting soon, too?" Sheppard asked.

Without waiting for McKay to answer, Ronon cupped his hands around his mouth, tipped his head back and shouted, "Zelenka!"

McKay fumbled the tablet and dropped it on the table with a clatter. "Stop doing that!"

Frowning into his coffee mug, Zelenka came around the partition that separated the front of the lab from the back.

"What? It works," Ronon said.

Zelenka looked up. "Did you find the device?"

Sheppard opened his mouth to answer, but Ronon interrupted. "Is he ours or theirs?"

Looking at Zelenka, McKay felt a mixture of pity and relief. "Pretty sure he's ours."

Last year, Zelenka went with Lorne's team to check out P2X-555, a planet that was supposed to be inhabited by friendly traders who specialized in odd pieces of tech bought from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Turned out they were friendly and they were traders, but they were also members of an alien society that had evolved from the genetic equivalent of cockroaches. Giant, talking cockroaches.

McKay was in the gateroom when the team returned. Zelenka's expression then was only slightly more horrified than his expression now.

"I put down my coffee because I was feeling sick. The feeling passed." Zelenka said. He held out the mug, his hand shaking a little. "My coffee is now tea."

-------------------------------------

This universe's Zelenka had left his radio on his workbench and McKay used it to call Beckett. He didn't get quite the heartwarming welcome he'd expected.

"Och, Rodney, I was sleeping. And I distinctly recall telling you to do the same. We've got — " McKay heard a clatter, a crash, then a muffled, tired curse "— almost eight hours until you shift again, according to my clock, which is now in several pieces on the floor. Someone better be bleeding profusely or in imminent danger of —"

"Wrong Rodney," McKay announced. Who said he couldn't get to the point when he wanted to?

Silence.

After a second, McKay wondered whether Beckett had disconnected. After a few more seconds, he was pretty sure he had. McKay was reaching up to the earpiece to call again when Beckett spoke, this time awake and alert.

"I thought you . . . he . . . you shifted every twelve hours."

"So did I," McKay said unhappily.

"It's only been four," Beckett pointed out.

"And yet, here we are."

Over the radio, McKay heard movement, rustling. The doctor getting dressed, he guessed. "You, the colonel and Ronon?" Beckett asked.

McKay glanced at Zelenka. He was sitting on a stool, staring at the now-blue _Dangerous things that almost made Dr. McKay go boom _sign. "And Radek, on his inaugural voyage across dimensions."

"Where are you?"

"Lab."

"I'll be right there. I have something for you. Don't go anywhere."

McKay smiled ruefully. "Like we can help it."

While they waited, McKay enlisted the team's help in searching the lab for this universe's version of the device. It had to be similar to theirs and if they were going to figure out how to stop shifting, he wanted to examine it ASAP.

They'd covered McKay's _dangerous things_ unit and the storage area reserved for untested tech, and were in the middle of searching the workstations at the front of the lab, when Beckett hurried in out of breath. He'd traded his pajamas, robe and slippers for his standard uniform, minus the lab coat. He carried a med kit.

Zelenka paused in his search of Dr. Lee's station, clutching the scanner and tablet PC that he'd found there. He stared at Beckett and swallowed visibly. "I knew. . . I mean, Rodney said. . . but seeing . . . . my god."

Beckett smiled. "I've been getting that a lot lately." His gaze slid to Ronon, who was ransacking a desk, and his smile turned sad. "Trust me, the feeling's mutual."

"No injuries here, Carson," McKay said, gesturing distractedly at the med kit as he rummaged through his counterpart's desk. "What's up?"

"Ah!" Beckett patted the case. "Something you'll be happy about. Unless you're unusually fond of headaches and dizzy spells."

McKay's head snapped up. "You can fix that?"

"Aye, temporarily." Beckett thumped the case onto a clear table and flipped it open. "When I stopped being a bloody fool and believed you, both of you, I realized the headaches were instant migraines caused by the sudden expansion of blood vessels in your brain just before and during the shift." McKay watched him unpack syringes and swabs, four bottles of pills and packages of . . . were those seasickness patches? "The vertigo is just that, vertigo. You're getting motion sick."

To McKay's astonishment, Sheppard acknowledged, "Everything did tilt a bit."

Translation: The world flipped upside down and I nearly lost my lunch.

"I would imagine so, lad," Carson said, moving around the room to dole out the patches. "I was there when you lot went on your way last time, and let's just say the human body isn't supposed to do what yours did."

"Lots of wavy. Kind of shimmering. Like a mirage gone wrong?" McKay asked.

Carson nodded, handing him a patch. "Put it behind your ear and then don't touch it. That's what you see when you shift, then?"

"When he looks," Ronon said, slapping a patch behind his ear.

"Oh, like you kept your eyes open through all that spinning and tilting and whirling and. . . ." McKay pressed his palms against the cool top of the desk and hunched forward. "Never mind. I think I'm making myself seasick."

Beckett chuckled and patted him placatingly on the back before continuing on to his med pack. "Well, the patch will help that."

McKay shook his head, wincing as the aching muscles at the back of his neck strained and pulled. He straightened up and tiredly ran a hand over his face, glad Beckett had his back turned. "Finding that device is what would help. I need to get a look at it sooner rather than later."

He turned around and surveyed the lab. Sheppard, Ronon and Zelenka had moved to sit around the worktable that belonged to Zelenka's counterpart. Sheppard, arms crossed, leaned back on his stool, balancing it precariously, effortlessly, on two legs. They wereobviously out of places to search. . . er, ransack. In their effort to _find it, find it now_, they (McKay too, truth be told) hadn't been exactly careful about putting things back where they found them. Or at all. Drawers were pulled open, papers strewn over desktops, tech storage boxes scattered everywhere. If it had been his lab, he would have been livid.

But it wasn't his lab.

McKay turned around. "Carson, do you know where it is?"

Syringe in hand, Beckett gestured him over. "Radek put it in the dangerous things storage unit."

McKay sat down on a stool next to Beckett and rolled up his sleeve. "It's not there. We looked."

Beckett frowned as he swabbed the crook of McKay's arm. "Rodney, Colonel Sheppard and Teyla called me a couple of hours ago, said they'd checked on Radek and he was fine. Rodney was going to take a quick look at the device and then get a few hours sleep. Here we go now, wee pinch."

McKay didn't even notice the needle go in. He was staring at Sheppard, who was staring back at him. Sheppard set his stool on all three legs with a thud.

"Uh, doc," he said, standing and coming over. "Your Rodney was in the lab here — messing with the device — when they shifted?"

Beckett put a band-aid on McKay's arm and looked up, unconcerned. "I wouldn't be surprised. He — " He glanced at McKay with mock ferocity "— and you, too, I'm sure, never listen to me when I order rest. Not when there's some shiny new Ancient device that needs figuring out."

McKay stood up, absently rubbing at the band-aid with his thumb. "He had it when he shifted."

Sheppard glanced at Beckett, who was preparing another syringe. If this universe's Rodney carried the device with him, with his team, the doctor likely just lost his closest friends for good. "Are you sure this Rodney'd bring it with him?"

McKay nodded, and for the second time in as many hours his heart sank. "I would have."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Over 100 reviews! Wow. I'm just. . . just. . . . Wow! If this story ends up with 200, I think I may faint. Er, pass out.

Thank you everyone for your extremely kind reviews. I'm delighted that you're enjoying the story, because I'm certainly having a blast writing it. Also, thanks, as always, go to beta Stealth Dragon.

**Seasonal note:** You know, reviews make wonderful holiday gifts. They're free, require no wrapping paper, and you don't have to stand in line. I'll even start off the gift giving. As a belated Hanukkah/ early Christmas present, I give you... more Carson. :-)

Enjoy.

* * *

After four years of Wraith attacks, Replicator assaults, various hostage situations, and myriad run-for-your-life incidents (usually in the woods, sometimes at night, and always, literally, running), McKay knew how to communicate with his team members subtly. Granted, he didn't employ this skill very often, but his point remained valid: He _could _if he had to. 

And with Carson in the dark about the possible fate of his friends. . . well, forget the Wraith. This was serious.

Sheppard took McKay's place on the stool and rolled up his sleeve for Beckett. He looked at McKay and tilted his head slightly toward the doctor. _Do we tell him now?_

McKay looked at ground, still slowly, absently, tracing small circles around the band-aid with his thumb. After a moment, he looked at Sheppard and twitched his head. _No._

Beckett moved in to swab Sheppard's arm. While the doctor was busy, Sheppard raised an eyebrow at McKay. _You sure?_

"Wee pinch now," Beckett said.

McKay watched him minister to Sheppard, his movements sure and easy. Carson had done this kind of thing so many times. It didn't matter what universe they were in, he was always relieving their pain, healing their injuries, saving their lives. Just weeks ago he lost Ronon. Could Carson survive losing McKay, Sheppard, Teyla and Zelenka, too? If the roles had been reversed, McKay doubted he could. If they'd vanished on him weeks after Carson's death….

And what if, McKay thought suddenly, he was wrong about taking the device? Sure, the odds were so infinitesimal as to be nearly nothing. But he'd been wrong before — once or twice in his lifetime — and what if they crushed Carson with "I'm sorry, your friends are bouncing around in other dimensions and you'll never see them again," only to have them pop up on the next shift?

And if he wasn't wrong? He would find a way to bring them back. Carson deserved that.

He didn't deserve to worry in the meantime.

McKay shoved his hands in his pockets, away from the band-aid. He gave Sheppard the barest of nods. _Yes. I'm sure._

Beckett straightened and patted Sheppard on the shoulder. "You're all set."

"Thanks, doc." Sheppard stood, pushing down his sleeve. "So what's that stuff supposed to do?"

Beckett started preparing a third syringe. "It'll help with the migraines. Not completely, as far as I can tell, but enough to take the edge off." With one hand he scooped up two of the bottles of pills and tossed one each to McKay and Sheppard. "For later. These'll do the same thing, but I wanted to get it into your bloodstream immediately. The patches will take hours to work and I figured the least I could do was help with the headache. I didn't know how long you'd be hanging around before the next shift."

McKay glanced at his watch. They'd been there for nearly an hour. His other trips hadn't lasted longer than that. "Should be any minute now."

Beckett nodded. "Then let's get this finished." He looked past Sheppard to Zelenka and Ronon. "Who's next?"

------------------------------------

But they didn't shift in the next minute. Or five. Or ten.

McKay checked his watch.

Or twenty.

They'd spent some of that extra time comparing universes, looking for the spots where Carson's dimension deviated from theirs. Aside from several very small variations — in Carson's universe, the mess hall served macaroni and cheese on Mondays instead of Wednesdays, Rodney liked green Jell-O instead of blue, and movie night started at 7 instead of 8 — there seemed to be only two glaring events that made a difference.

Carson, in this universe, ran instead of walked away after delivering the tumor to the disposal team. The blast knocked him off his feet and singed half the hair off the back of his head, but he survived.

Ronon, in this universe, refused to ask for Sheppard's help in hitting the Wraith lab with his Satedan friends. He left on the op with his Satedan pals, only to be immediately captured. He was tortured when he refused to become a Wraith worshipper, refused to give up Atlantis' location, refused to lure McKay to the research facility to help deactivate the Replicator virus. He escaped, but was too badly injured to survive. He died in Carson's infirmary less than a day after finding his way back to Atlantis.

After that story, the group decided to stop sharing.

They were all sitting around Zelenka's workstation now, waiting. Well, most of them were waiting, McKay amended. Sheppard seemed to be playing. He'd wedged his knee under the tabletop and was tilting his stool back again, rocking gently forward and back on two legs.

McKay checked his watch. "I don't like this."

"You've said that a few times already," Sheppard pointed out.

"And I still don't like it." McKay checked his watch again. He sighed, aggravated.

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Will you stop doing that?"

"What?"

"Looking at your watch every ten seconds."

"Well, I'm sorry if surreptitious glances at my wrist bother you, Colonel, but I'm trying to track our time here." He looked pointedly at Sheppard's stool. "Will you stop doing _that_? That's much more annoying."

Sheppard kept rocking.

"You aren't tracking, you're obsessing, and it's not helping the wait." Sheppard folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not bothering anyone else."

"Yes, well, you do have a gun on you. Who's going to say?"

Sheppard unfolded his arms and started to reply, but Beckett beat him to it. "All right, lads," he said, holding up his hands in a signal to stop. "You're tired and frustrated and a wee bit worried about why you haven't shifted yet —"

"Not worried," McKay muttered, even though he was.

" — but there's no need to snipe at each other," Beckett finished.

McKay sighed again, frustrated. He started to check his watch but stopped. He balled his hands into fists and jammed them under his thighs. Every muscle in his body felt tight, taut, like a drawn bow at the ready. But there was nothing to do. He needed to do something.

"Are you sure your Rodney didn't leave me anything? A video message, a yellow sticky note, something?" he asked Beckett. As loathe as McKay was to admit it, he'd been really counting on his counterpart to fill in some blanks.

Beckett shook his head. "Aside from a few unrepeatable words about you taking his laptop, no."

McKay mumbled an unrepeatable word himself.

"I'm sure he would have left you something if he'd had time," Beckett continued as if McKay hadn't said anything. "After all, did you leave a message for the Rodney McKay shifting into your dimension?"

Four heads swiveled to Beckett. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "What?"

McKay found his voice first. "You think another Rodney, another team, is in our universe right now."

"Well, it stands to reason, doesn't it?" Beckett asked, as if the possibility had been completely obvious . . . which, McKay now realized, it probably should have been.

"He's right," Zelenka said.

"I know he's right," McKay said.

Ronon leaned forward. "So what does that mean?"

"What Carson is saying is that his Rodney and team shifted forward, we shifted here and so someone must have shifted into our spots." McKay paused, thinking. "But…."

"But?" Sheppard set his stool on three legs.

"But I don't think anyone's shifted into our universe. Someone would have noticed 'me' acting different than I usually do."

"Wouldn't someone also have noticed if you vanished from Atlantis?" Sheppard pointed out.

"One would hope so." He bristled, then admitted, "But I was never gone for that long."

"Okay, let's just say Carson is right and alternates of us are in our Atlantis now. What does that mean?" Sheppard asked.

"Well. . . not necessarily anything bad." McKay said.

"'Not necessarily?'" Sheppard echoed.

McKay unclenched his fists to wave away the concern. "Not unless they're our evil twins or something. Like from that Star Trek episode where Spock had the really bad goatee." McKay realized Sheppard and Ronon still looked concerned. "Come on, it's science fiction. Emphasis on _fiction_. Not gonna happen here."

Sheppard didn't look appeased. "So let's just say Carson is wrong and no alternates of us have been shifting to our Atlantis. What does that mean?"

McKay rummaged around the workstation until he found a spare sheet of paper. He tore it into pieces and set the pieces in a row on the table in front of them. "Look, think of this as a line of alternate universes. Each one is slightly different, with slightly different people and different circumstances shaping them." He tapped on a piece that had a jagged edge. "This is Carson's." He tapped on the piece just behind it. "This is ours." He placed his index finger on the piece just behind that one. "This is the alternate universe in line behind ours. If someone shifted to ours —" He made a jumping motion with his finger between the two slips of paper. " — then they'd be coming from there."

"If no one is shifting to our universe," Zelenka said, taking up the explanation, "it could be because the device never existed there."

"Or, more likely, it existed but they didn't activate it," McKay said.

Zelenka looked at him. "Or, more likely than that, they activated it but immediately figured out how to turn it off."

"Or, most likely," McKay said triumphantly, "the device never got activated because we don't exist there at all."

The table was silent. It took McKay a second to realize why.

"Well," he said almost apologetically, "it makes sense. One slight change over the last four years and none of us would be here."

McKay forced himself not to look at Carson, not to think of the "slight change" that happened to him in their universe. Instead he looked down at the paper universe he held between his thumb and index finger. While they were talking, he'd folded it in half over and over, until it looked like little more than a spitball. Suddenly uneasy, he flicked it away.

"Either way," he said, looking up, "we won't know whether someone's taken our place until we get back." He glanced at his watch. "And now we've been here almost twice as long as past trips."

Sheppard leaned his stool back again, and after a moment he and Ronon began talking about the weapons inventory they'd been planning to do that morning. Zelenka said something about instant coffee, grabbed his mug and disappeared to the back of the lab.

McKay moved to his own desk — his counterpart's desk — and sat down. The rolling chair was more comfortable than the stools, and he felt less off kilter looking at the lab from a familiar vantage point. He closed his eyes and tiredly massaged the aching spots at his temples. When did he sleep last?

"Rodney, when was the last time you got some sleep?"

McKay opened his eyes, amused to hear his own thoughts echoed aloud in a Scottish brogue. Carson was pulling up another rolling chair.

"Five hours ago," McKay lied.

"I don't think so."

"Seven, then."

"Uh huh," Carson said, unconvinced.

"Ten?"

"Now you're not even trying."

Despite himself, McKay smiled.

"You're not a good liar," Carson informed him.

Hadn't he recently been thinking how Carson could always see right through him?

"Actually, I am a superb liar," McKay said, then bit his tongue before he could add: _For example, I haven't told you that your friends probably aren't coming back. _

"Are you now? First I've heard of it."

McKay started to say something, but a yawn interrupted. Carson chuckled. "See," he said. "Even if your words don't tell the story, your body language will. You're too honest a man."

McKay shook his head. "Blunt. There's a difference."

And then, because he really was an honest man — blunt, too, but also honest — and because he simply couldn't stand to keep quiet any longer, McKay opened his mouth to tell Carson that his friends may not find their way home.

But the tired ache in his head grew to a regular ache and even though it wasn't ice pick-like, McKay recognized the shift.

"Here we go," he said quietly, just as the wave of vertigo hit. Then, calling to the group, "Here we go!"

McKay stood up. In hindsight, it was a foolish move. You're dizzy, you sit down. But he felt like he should be standing for the trip.

Carson stood, too.

"When he gets back, I'll ask my Rodney to leave you his side of things," Carson said.

McKay didn't nod, didn't acknowledge the remark in any way. Instead he said, "See you later, Carson."

And then he closed his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Okay, it's Christmas Eve and what am I doing? Yes, I'm posting Ch. 8. That means I am either deeply dedicated or officially insane. Um. Hmm. . . .

A thank you to Kodiak's Sweet Breath for some excellent background info regarding the efficiency (or lack thereof!) of seasickness patches. A great thank you to Stealth Dragon, who returned this story to me on Christmas Eve... what an incredible beta.

Happy Holidays to all. . . and to all, a good read!

* * *

The air was a few degrees cooler here and McKay shivered once, sharp and quick, before his body adjusted to the temperature change. His shift headache faded away, leaving only the tired ache behind his eyes to carry on. He felt the vertigo dissipate, the grip of dizziness and nausea release. Still, he kept his eyes shut through one thudding heartbeat . . . two . . . three . . . . 

He took a deep breath and — with more effort than should have been necessary — opened his eyes.

Carson was gone.

McKay exhaled loudly. Then his knees promptly buckled.

He tried to catch himself but only succeeded in smacking his right elbow against the rolling chair, sending it sliding across the floor and into the side of a metallic desk with a resounding boom. McKay landed hard on one knee, then fell back on his butt. Then, because he was already halfway there anyway — and, really, lying down seemed like a much better idea than standing at that moment — he let gravity have its way with him and he sprawled back on the lab floor.

The floor was cold. It felt good against his head.

He heard the squeak-thump of running boots, and Ronon and Sheppard appeared above him, joined a half-second later by Zelenka. He was obviously uninjured, and they peered down at him with frowns of concern but no alarm.

"Well," McKay said, mustering sarcasm, "that was fun."

Ronon extended a hand to help him up. "The shift or falling?"

"Both," McKay said. He grasped Ronon's wrist to haul himself up, but the Sateden pulled instead and with a whoosh of air roaring past his ears McKay found himself suddenly on his feet. The blood rushed to his head and he waited a moment for the lightheadedness to pass before trusting himself to stay upright.

"Thanks. Tripped," he said and avoided meeting their eyes by clapping invisible dust off his pants. Let them think he'd stumbled over the desk chair or his own two feet. He didn't have time for a field trip to the infirmary.

"No problem —" Ronon started, but McKay was already on the move, heading toward the back of the lab and calling over his shoulder, "Radek, get the container."

If anyone noticed his legs trembling, they didn't say.

McKay returned a moment later with the steel storage box, the device still nestled snugly inside in foam inserts, exactly as he'd left it when they shifted. On a workspace in the middle of the lab, Radek was setting up what they'd simply termed "the container," a small Ancient force field that allowed him to work on ATA gene-sensitive tech without setting it off.

While Radek finished, McKay glanced around the lab. It was clean and orderly and completely undisturbed, unlike the lab they'd just torn to pieces. Aside from the two of them, it was also eerily empty.

"Where're Sheppard and Ronon?" He'd meant the question to sound casual, but his voice was pitched with anxiety.

The force field snapped to life with a blue glow and a faint hum. Radek pulled the device from its foam bed and transferred it slowly, carefully, before he breathed a sigh of relief and answered, "I don't know where they are."

McKay stared at him. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Radek shrugged, eyes on the device as he calibrated the force field. "They said they'd be back. They didn't say where they were going."

"Oh," McKay said, relieved they hadn't shifted away. Then, "They'd better be fetching my laptop."

Relieved, but also annoyed that they'd left without even a word to him.

McKay grabbed Zelenka's laptop from his desk and flipped it open. His hands shook a little. He ignored them.

He and Radek worked silently for a few moments, analyzing the device and trading calculations by sliding the laptop and a tablet PC back and forth between them. McKay was in the middle of pinning down the source of the device's energy — could shutting it off be as easy as pulling a battery? — when Radek spoke.

"Rodney?"

"Hmm?" McKay's fingers moved furiously over the laptop's keyboard, his eyes flicking between computer and device.

"How long do you think we have here?" Radek's voice carried the same trying-to-be-casual-but-not-quite-making-it tone McKay's had.

"If we go by the last shift, four hours." No battery. Figured it wouldn't be that easy. Dammit. "Probably less, though. Our periods home are getting shorter."

"And the periods there longer," Radek said, sounding worried. "I'm thinking that eventually —"

"I know," McKay said quietly. His eyes stayed on the computer screen, but his hands hovered motionless over the keyboard. He wished he had some reassurance to offer, some guarantee, some. . . something. But Radek knew the science as well as he did. He knew all the scenarios, the what-ifs. He knew they had a chance of not fixing this.

McKay started typing again, resuming his search for the device's energy source. "That's why we're working on it," he said. "Fast."

--------------------------------------------

A turkey sandwich appeared in McKay's hand and he'd devoured half of it before it occurred to him to ask where it had come from.

"The sandwich fairy," Sheppard said.

For the first time in over an hour, McKay looked up from his work. Sheppard was casually leaning against the neighboring worktable, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. The three backpacks and tac vests he'd piled on the table said otherwise.

"When did you get back?" McKay asked, tearing into the sandwich again. At his elbow he found another sandwich wrapped in cellophane, an apple, a chocolate chip muffin and two bottles of water. Across the table, he noticed Radek had a half-eaten apple in one hand and was busily typing on his laptop with the other, probably just as oblivious as McKay had been.

"About five minutes ago." Sheppard nodded at the food. "When was the last time you ate?"

McKay paused in chewing. Huh. Good question. When _was_ the last time he'd eaten? He didn't usually forget things like that. Specifically that.

Sheppard apparently took his silence to mean _a very long time_.

"That's what I figured," he said, twisting the top off of one of the water bottles and setting it back on the table. "After your collapse, I talked to Keller and she said —"

McKay almost choked on his sandwich. "You what?" he sputtered, spraying flecks of wheat bread onto the tablet PC in front of him. He swallowed hard and took a swig of water. "You talked to Keller about me?"

"Well, it was either that or drag you down there," Sheppard said, defensive. "You tripped? I don't think so. You were shaking so hard I was surprised you could even stand. Keller couldn't remember the last time you ate and neither could I, so we put two and two together. You're welcome."

McKay stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and glowered at Sheppard. "I would have said if something was wrong," he said around a mouthful of bread and turkey.

"Yeah, but when you don't say, that's when there's actually something wrong," Sheppard said. "By the way, I had to promise Keller I'd drag you down there anyway if the food doesn't help."

"Helping already," McKay said, pausing in his unwrapping of the second sandwich to hold out his hand. "See, not shaking."

Except it was.

McKay quickly pulled his hand back and swiped it across his pants as if he could wipe away the tremors like an errant smear of mustard. He finished unwrapping the second sandwich. "Takes a while to go away," he muttered. Then, to change the subject, he gestured to the packs and vests. "You can't seriously be suggesting we lug that stuff with us."

"Think of it as an offworld mission," Sheppard said easily, not taking the bait.

"But it's not an offworld mission. In fact, it's about as _not _offworld as you can get."

Still leaning against the table, Sheppard crossed his ankles and folded his arms across his chest. "Can you guarantee the shifts will stay the same, that we won't suddenly find ourselves in a dimension where, oh I don't know, the Replicators have taken Atlantis? Or the Wraith? Or some bad guys we haven't even encountered here yet?"

"Yes," McKay said, again around a mouthful of bread.

"You can guarantee that? You're willing to stake your life, our lives, on it?"

He was absolutely sure they'd continue shifting only between their universe and Carson's. He was willing to stake his life on it.

But the lives of his team?

Out of the corner of his eye, McKay saw Radek stop both typing and chewing. Not so oblivious, then.

"Fine, we'll take the gear," McKay said, and popped the last of the second sandwich into his mouth. "But you explain it to Carson when he asks why we're prepared for Armageddon."

"Deal," Sheppard said. He reached around, snagged one of the packs and unzipped it. "Besides, the packs will make it easier for you to carry these."

He slid out McKay's twin laptops.

"Oh thank god!" McKay said, grabbing the machines. He immediately started to network them to both the tablet PC and Radek's laptop. "So you talked to Sam?"

Sheppard nodded. "She'll be here in a few minutes. Teyla, too. They're going to keep guard, see if our evil doubles shift in as we shift out."

McKay rolled his eyes. "I told you, science fiction — " But when he looked up, he realized the corners of Sheppard's mouth were twitching upward. "Ah, joke. Funny. Ha ha."

He went back to his machines.

At some point, McKay was vaguely aware, Ronon returned to the lab, left, then returned again. Teyla arrived, putting her hand softly on his shoulder to let him know she was there, then drifting away to let him work. Carter came, setting up her own laptop next to his two.

"Not specific access points, then, huh?" she asked.

"Random," McKay said miserably.

"Controllable?"

"Not so far."

"The Ancients wouldn't build something that would bounce them randomly, uncontrollably, to another universe, would they?" Carter surmised.

"No, they wouldn't," Zelenka said before McKay had a chance. "It's probably broken. It was probably broken when we found it."

"Do we know what it was built to do?" Carter asked, scrolling quickly through the data that now appeared in her own laptop.

"Don't know what it was built to do," McKay grumbled. "Don't know why. Don't know how. Don't know how to shut it off — hello!"

McKay felt the room tense, all eyes on him.

"You found a way to shut it off?" Teyla asked, somewhere off to the side. He didn't look up. He was too focused on the screen.

"No. No, it's not that good, but it's . . . something. . . ." McKay said, trailing off distractedly. His screen scrolled and he devoured the information faster than he'd devoured the sandwiches.

When he didn't start talking again, Carter hit him lightly on the arm. "McKay."

He pulled his eyes away from the screen. His head swam, and he pushed back from the table so he could look at everyone without swiveling constantly. Sheppard and Teyla sat on the neighboring worktable, she cross-legged in a near lotus position, he swinging his legs over the edge. Ronon slouched next to them in a rolling chair, the tac vests and packs piled beside him for easy reach.

"I found a reference to it in the Ancient database," he told them. "It wasn't created for trans-dimensional transportation. It was created as an observation port. It was supposed to thin the barriers between realities just enough for the Ancients to look in on the other dimensions."

"They were peeping through their neighbors' curtains," Sheppard said.

McKay nodded. "Crude. But basically, yes."

"What good would that do?" Ronon asked.

"If they found the right dimensions, virtually identical dimensions but where time ran a day or a week or more ahead, they could see the results of decisions before they made them. For example —"

"Should they forge an alliance or maintain distance," Teyla said, nodding with understanding.

"Go after a Wraith ship today or wait until tomorrow," Ronon added, sitting up.

"Stay in Atlantis or leave," Sheppard said, looking impressed. "Useful tool."

"But one that doesn't work, at least not like the Ancients wanted," McKay reminded them. "It was never meant to thin the barriers between universes so completely that people could go through. Certainly it wasn't intended to force them through."

"So how is it doing it and how do we make it stop?" Sheppard asked.

"I don't — Crap!" A softer version of the shift headache reared up, and on its heels a wave of dizziness. McKay curled his fingers around the edge of his chair to keep himself from plunging forward. "When are these damn patches going to start working?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Ronon dumped a tac vest and a pack onto his lap, jerking him into action. Willing himself to stay upright, McKay let go of the chair and hastily started pulling wires from the laptops, disconnecting them from everything. He thrust the twin laptops into his pack, tossed the tablet in after them and, after a split second of thought, threw in the chocolate chip muffin and a bottle of water as well.

Zelenka stood up, vest clutched in one hand, his pack — sagging from the weight of his own computer and supplies — clutched in the other. Sheppard and Ronon moved beside them as Carter and Teyla moved away without a word, as if the whole thing was routine, and all McKay could think was _Only in Atlantis would this be routine._

McKay stood, his legs stronger since he ate. Shouldering the pack, he glanced at his watch.

They'd been home less than three hours.

"I'll keep —" Carter started, but the rest of the sentence was lost, drifting away like the end of an echo.

The lab shimmered and wavered in front of him, and McKay squeezed his eyes shut because the whole thing was just too disconcerting.

So it was sound, not sight, that greeted him first on the other side. Chiefly, an angry Scottish brogue.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N at the end.

* * *

McKay had a reason for keeping Carson in the dark about his friends. A couple of reasons. Good reasons. But watching Carson pace and rant, his face ashen, McKay seriously hated himself. 

"What happened?" Carson demanded, a thin layer of anger covering worry, fear. . . panic. "What the bloody hell happened?"

"Your Rodney and his team didn't come back?" Sheppard asked, managing to make it sound at once a question and a statement. He moved next to McKay and threw him a glance.

"No, they didn't." Carson jammed his fists into his pockets and stopped in front of them. "You shifted out and that was it."

An idea sparked — maybe he had been wrong! McKay snapped his fingers madly. "Wait, they could've shifted to a different part of the city. Did you — "

"Of course I searched for their transmitters. Nothing," Carson said.

"Oh." So, not so wrong. McKay licked his lips. His mouth had suddenly gone very dry. "Well, it's possible it's just a delay. A skipped shift. Like a skipped heartbeat. You know about that kind of thing, Carson. Skipped heartbeats, I mean. It could, the shift could, you know. . . ." Carson was looking at him. Why did he have to be looking at him? ". . . uh, right itself. . . . ."

McKay elbowed Sheppard in the ribs. _Agree with me. Shoot me. Something!_

"Yeah," Sheppard said.

Aaaand…. that was it. McKay's shoulders drooped. They were dead men.

Carson's eyes flicked sharply between him and Sheppard. "What do you know?"

"Carson, I —"

"No, Rodney. Stop it." Carson's tone was firm, even. "What aren't you telling me?"

McKay didn't answer. He felt sick, the weight and responsibility of infinite universes, two galaxies, and one friendship pressing down on him. Staring at a spot on the floor, he concentrated on keeping the two turkey sandwiches from making reappearance.

"Rodney, what aren't you telling me?" Carson repeated.

It was a long moment before he could force himself to look up, another moment before he could meet Carson's eyes. "Your friends," he said quietly, "aren't coming back."

-------------------------------------------------------

Carson took the news better than McKay would have under the same circumstances.

Which is to say the doctor stayed upright and breathing.

"Tell me," Carson said, calm. Too calm. His face, tinged gray when they'd arrived, was now ghostly pale.

"Doc," Sheppard said carefully, "maybe you should sit down."

Carson ignored him and instead leveled his gaze at McKay. "Tell. Me."

McKay heard a voice, flat, toneless, and it took him a moment to realize it was his voice and he was telling Carson about the device, about its purpose, about its malfunction. Telling Carson that he'd tried to bring the device with him to this universe but missed grabbing it by a split second. That his Rodney had succeeded where he failed. That it meant. . . what it meant.

The room was silent while he spoke, and it remained silent when he finished. After a pause, Carson took Sheppard's advice and pulled over a nearby stool with a screech and scrape that echoed and made McKay wince — not because the sound was obnoxious, but because it was so obnoxiously _normal_.

Sinking onto the stool, Carson nodded to himself, absorbing the information.

"I'm. . . I'm sorry," McKay tried.

Carson looked at him, and for a moment McKay only saw only the vacant shell of his friend. Then Carson nodded once, slow and deep, as if coming to a decision, and the light returned behind his eyes.

"All right," he said. "So how do we fix this?"

_I don't know if we can. _"I'm working on it."

--------------------------------------------------------

In this universe, they had no device to study, but McKay wasn't without something to do. He and Zelenka had the data they'd saved on their laptops and on the tablet. There was an Ancient database here as well, and though McKay figured he'd plumbed it completely for info on the device at home, the database in this universe might offer something extra.

Also, he had the chocolate chip muffin.

He still felt sick and his stomach lurched when his fingers curled around the spongy mound and he pulled it out of his pack, but he tore the muffin in two and stuffed the bigger half in his mouth, forcing himself to chew and swallow as he set up the machines. He needed the energy of food and sugar. If he vomited horribly it was the very least he deserved for getting them all in this mess and not being able to figure a way out.

McKay settled at a table with Zelenka, sitting kitty-corner to the other scientist so that Carson — still on his stool — remained within his line of sight. They'd been working for barely two minutes when he noticed Carson frown, his eyes traveling over their packs and the tac vests he and Zelenka had slung over the back of a chair

"What were you expecting?" Carson asked.

McKay waved vaguely toward Sheppard, who was sitting with Ronon at the next table. "Your turn, Colonel." Then he stuffed the other half of the muffin in his mouth.

"Packs and vests are just a precaution," Sheppard said

Carson raised an eyebrow. "And the P-90?"

McKay whirled to look at Sheppard. He was the only one of them who'd gotten his vest on, though he hadn't fastened it. It hung open, sides falling loosely as he leaned forward to move the gun from his lap to a more surreptitious spot — leaning against the far table leg.

"You already had your sidearm. You brought your P-90, too?" McKay asked, incredulous.

A look of chagrin flashed across Sheppard's face before he lifted his chin, defensive. "Hey, you'd be thanking your lucky stars I did if we shifted in the middle of a Wraith attack or Replicator assault or —" Sheppard suddenly snapped his mouth shut, the muscles of his jaws working. "Sorry, Carson," he said through clenched teeth.

The doctor was staring at the gun. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper and McKay had to strain to make out the words. "They didn't know they'd shift so soon. They weren't prepared. They don't have. . . ."

No one had to ask who "they" were.

Sheppard hoisted his pack onto his lap and started rifling through it. "Okay," he said, pulling out a bundle of dark blue cloth. "Definitely a good time for this."

He unwrapped the cloth and set an oval bottle of amber liquid on the table.

"Scotch?" Zelenka asked.

"Scotch," Sheppard answered firmly and disappeared to the back of the lab.

McKay shook his head. A sub-machine gun and liquor. He really had to talk to the colonel about his choice of shifting gear.

Sheppard returned with three coffee mugs and two plastic cups. Carson looked dazed as he watched Sheppard pour Scotch into the cups, then start on the mugs. Halfway through, the doctor woke up to what Sheppard was doing.

"You can't have that," he said without emotion.

Sheppard ignored him and finished pouring. "Elizabeth got this last year for Carson for Christmas. He. . . before she. . . ." He set the bottle down and looked up. "She never got to give it to him."

"You found it when you packed up her office," McKay said, filling in the blanks.

Sheppard handed a mug to Ronon, who sniffed at the liquid curiously. He gave a mug to Zelenka, the third to McKay. "It's been sitting on my desk. I couldn't imagine a better time to break it out."

"You can't have that," Carson repeated, stronger but not normal. "I'm sorry, son, it's thoughtful. . . very thoughtful. . . but the medications I've given you —"

Sheppard pushed a plastic cup into Carson's hand. "You're getting the lion's share, with a second and third call if you want. The rest of us have barely a taste. Just enough for a toast."

"Toast?" Ronon asked.

"A custom to celebrate or honor someone," Sheppard said. He raised his cup. "To fallen friends."

After a moment's pause, Zelenka stood and raised his mug. "To friends who have been saved."

Ronon stood. "To friends who've saved us."

McKay stood, not knowing what to say until the words were out of his mouth. "To friends who come home."

Carson slowly slid off his stool and lifted his cup a couple of inches. "Aye. To friends," he said with effort. Then he downed the Scotch.

------------------------------------------------------

Ronon couldn't leave the lab. He was dead in this universe and people were guaranteed to react badly if they saw him running through the halls. But after five hours of waiting, he couldn't just sit anymore, either. So he paced, walking the length of the room, twirling his weapon out of its holster, into its holster, out, in, out—

"I swear to god, Ronon, will you stop?" McKay fairly growled.

"No," Ronon said. Twirl. In. Twirl. Out.

"I can't concentrate with you doing that."

"Should've let this place's Carter come down and help." Twirl.

McKay glared at him. "We've already got Sam in our universe working on it. Zelenka's working on it. I'm working on it. We've got computers from two universes, Ancient databases from two universes —"

"Could've had Carter from two universes."

"Dammit!" McKay stood and pounded a hand on the table, irrationally angry and knowing it but unable to stop. "I don't need her. I just need to concentrate!"

Ronon stopped pacing and Sheppard moved quickly between them. "Okay, kids," he said, holding up his hands. "Neutral corners."

Ronon muttered something about McKay's lack of sleep and wandered off to the far section of the lab. McKay plopped back down and resumed his calculations, hitting the keys with more force than was strictly necessary.

Zelenka had taken a break to fetch coffee with Carson. Sheppard took his seat.

"How's it coming?"

"Ducky," McKay answered and hit the keyboard so hard the laptop jumped.

"So I see."

McKay didn't look up, just slid the laptop closer. "I'm a little busy here."

"You're shaking again."

McKay stopped typing. His hands hovered above the keyboard, trembling. He flexed them to get some blood flowing and started typing faster. "I still can't find an off switch, but I think we can overload the blasted thing. Short circuit it. A power overload will probably destroy it, but once it's off —"

"McKay."

"— we'll stop bouncing between dimensions. And I think maybe — "

"You haven't slept since the accident, have you? That was two days ago."

"— it's a big maybe, but I think maybe shutting the device off in one universe will affect the devices that are on in other universes."

"McKay, you ­— wait, what?"

He looked up and blinked away a moment of double vision. "I don't know for sure. Not yet. But it looks like shutting off one will have a domino effect on the others." His gaze drifted to the laptop screen and he frowned. "If this is right."

"Carson's friends?"

"I don't know. . . ."

"But you _think_ —"

"They'd come home."

* * *

**A/N:** I asked a friend of mine what she'd bring in her pack if she were the military leader of a team ping-ponging between universes. Her answer: alcohol. I immediately thought of the scene above. Strictly speaking, I should have picked up the pace a little in this chapter, but I couldn't bring myself to leave that out. 

I swear, my next SGA story is going to be straight whump. Hurt them, heal them, the end. ;0)

As always, thanks go to beta extraordinaire Stealth Dragon. And, also as always, thank you all for your wonderful, wonderful reviews. They really help me keep going.

Happy New Year!!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Wow, I think I'll have to work alcohol into all future SGA stories. . . nearly every review mentioned the Scotch scene. So, in sum, I've learned with this story: _Alcohol good. Cliffhangers evil._ Got it. :-)

Speaking of reviews. . . . my goodness! I can't believe the amazing feedback I've gotten, even on chapters I knew weren't the strongest. Thank you. (And, you know, keep 'em coming.)

Thanks, as always, go to beta Stealth Dragon, who liked this chapter. So it's gotta be good.

* * *

"Why didn't you say something?" 

McKay looked up from the laptop, confused "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sheppard said exaggeratedly. "Like 'Eureka!" Or 'Woohoo!' Or 'By Jove, I think I've got it!'"

"Did you seriously just say _by Jove_?"

Sheppard waited.

McKay rolled his neck, working stiff muscles. "Radek . . . disagrees . . . with my math. We've been fighting about it for the last hour."

Sheppard looked at him as if he'd just announced teatime with the Mad Hatter. "I haven't heard any fighting."

McKay gestured to the laptops. "He highlights one of my equations. I put his in italics. He underlines mine and makes a rude note in Czech. I highlight his in red and comment in all caps that he —"

"Ah, math geek fighting," Sheppard said, grinning with relief and amusement. The grin slowly faded. "Radek thinks you're wrong?"

McKay nodded. "That why he volunteered for the coffee run. Needed time to cool off." He frowned again at the screen, willing the numbers into focus. They stubbornly refused to comply. "I know I'm right."

"Which part does Radek disagree with? That a power overload will get the device to quit shifting us around or that shutting it off will affect the devices in other universes?"

"Both."

The lab doors slid open and Carson and Radek walked in carrying a couple of thermoses each, sparing him from the colonel's response. With a glance to McKay, Sheppard vacated Radek's seat and took one of the coffees from Carson.

McKay didn't look up as Radek set a thermos next to him with a mumbled "Caffeine." He nodded his thanks, knowing that was enough for the moment, and popped open the top. The rich scent sent his heart into happy flutters and he drew a long sip, savoring the warm, bitter liquid as it slid down his throat. He could almost feel the caffeine speeding through his bloodstream —

_Headache_.

McKay shot forward to disconnect the computers. Stopped. Reached for them again. It felt like the softer version of the shift headache, but no vertigo came with it. Were they shifting or not?

"Guys?" Sheppard asked, frozen mid-step toward his pack and P-90, looking as confused as McKay felt.

Radek hesitantly touched a spot behind his ear. "Maybe the patches are finally working?" he suggested.

As if Radek's words had broken a spell, everyone moved, grabbing packs and vests, snatching up computers. McKay slung his pack over his shoulder and seized his thermos. He was reaching for the tablet PC when everything shimmered and wavered. He blinked and the tablet was gone.

He cursed at himself. Real bright, McKay. Pick up your drink before the computer. Genius move.

The lab was neater than the one they'd left and the device was there on the table, safe in the blue glow of the container's force field. Carson was gone, and McKay's chest automatically squeezed a little at the realization. Then it seized hard and sharp — Carter and Teyla weren't there either. Cold tendrils of panic crept up his spine and he opened his mouth to shout a warning — _We didn't shift home!_ — when he noticed a handwritten note taped to the table in front of the device. _Working in my office. Carter._

His chest suddenly unclenched and let his breath out with a soft whoosh.

"Everybody good?" Sheppard asked, holding his P-90 and pack. Everyone nodded except McKay, a detail that did not go unnoticed. "McKay?"

"I didn't get to the tablet in time," he said. From the other side of the table, Radek groaned. McKay bristled. "Well just shoot me why don't you? I grabbed two laptops, my pack, my vest —"

"Rodney," Sheppard started.

"It's not my fault the blasted seasickness patches suddenly started working and we didn't have more warning —"

"Rodney."

"It's not like I meant for —"

"Rodney!" Sheppard shouted.

"What!" McKay shouted back. _Oh._ He lowered his voice. "What?"

"How long do we have here?"

"Less than three hours. A lot less," he answered without having to think about it, the clock always ticking in the back of his mind. Sheppard raised an eyebrow and McKay suddenly got his point. "Right. No time for that."

--------------------------------------------------------

Radek continued to find fault with his math, dogging him with arguments even as he strode down the hallway, as he unlocked a naquadah generator from its perch, as he moved it to the lab.

"This will not work. I'm telling you, you're going to end up. . . ." Radek said out of breath, almost jogging to keep up.

McKay concentrated on tuning him out, running through the overload calculations in his head over and over and over until Radek's arguments became little more than persistent, buzzing background noise. And then, as often happened over the past year, the calculations were shunted aside by the memories.

Carson's resigned half-smile and "No, no, I understand," as McKay backed out of their fishing trip.

The charred, smoke-hazed corridor outside of the infirmary, the acrid odor still so thick hours after the explosion that it burned his lungs and forced him to his knees, retching, even as he fought Sheppard's hands on his shoulders and Ronon's grip on his arms because he had to stay, he had to _see._

The sleek wood of Carson's coffin, so polished that his own blurry reflection stared back at him as he carried it through the gate.

And the new image: Carson, eyes wide and starkly pale, sitting on a stool in the lab. Stunned. Broken. His mouth open but without sound. . . .

McKay blinked. He was hunched over a worktable in his lab, in the middle of connecting the naquadah generator to the device. As he twisted the first of five wire pairs to jury-rig a connection, he glanced at his watch. Thirty-five minutes gone. At his shoulder, Radek seethed, muttering in both Czech and English.

"It will work," McKay told him, moving on to a second set of wires.

His answer was a string of expletives in Czech.

Two wire pairs down. Three to go. "Where have Sheppard and Ronon run off to now?" McKay asked, hoping he would understand the reply.

"They've gone to check in with Colonial Carter. Rodney, at least wait until they —"

The third set of wires sparked in McKay's fingers, and he jerked his hand back with a hiss.

"See!" Radek said.

"See what?" McKay demanded, sucking on his burned finger.

"You aren't thinking clearly."

"I shock myself all the time." He shook his hand to get rid of the electrical sensation that crawled under his skin and then went back to set three. "Doesn't mean anything."

"You're sleep-deprived," Radek told him.

"I've gone three-and-a-half days without sleep before and still managed to save the city." Set three done.

"You're not far from that now," Radek said. "And I think this thing with Dr. Beckett has —"

McKay stopped in the middle of the fourth pair of wires. "This _thing_?" He twisted his head so he could glare at Radek over his shoulder. "You mean Beckett's spectacularly stupid death, his reappearance in an alternate dimension, or the fact that his friends — versions of us, I might add — are bouncing around out there somewhere and won't get back without some help?"

"All of that. I think it's made you . . . I think you are reacting. . . ." He trailed off as McKay went back to the fourth set of wires. "Sometimes I am wrong and you are right. Sometimes I am right and you are wrong. Let Colonel Carter review your math. She can be the one to decide."

With an irritated flick of his wrist, McKay finished the fourth set of wires. "We don't need a tiebreaker." He started on the last set. "I'm doing this."

His back twinged from staying hunched for so long, and he leaned his elbows on the table to take off some of the strain. He twisted the wires quickly, then checked to assure himself the other four were done correctly.

When he straightened up, he found Radek was looking at him, weary. McKay sighed.

"Fine. Do you have a better idea?"

"Don't overload it. Pull its power source," Radek said immediately. "Like pulling a battery from a flashlight."

"Been there, thought of that. We can't even find its power source," McKay told him, and started his final check on the generator.

"With more time —"

"We're almost out of time!" McKay couldn't help shouting his exasperation. "Each shift home is shorter. You know that. Pretty soon we'll be down to minutes here. _Minutes. _If were going to do something with the device, we need to do it now."

He turned away before Radek could answer him. He opened his laptop and cradled it with his left arm while he typed one-handed. The generator was set, the connection made, the power flow —

"Rodney, what are you doing?" Carter asked behind him.

McKay twitched and kept typing. He was getting used to people coming out of nowhere. He turned slowly to face her, not wanting to lose a second at the keyboard. When he looked up, he saw her standing in the doorway, Sheppard and Ronon just behind.

"Working," he said, and turned back to the generator.

"He wants to overload the device," Radek told her, his voice just this side of desperate.

"And you don't think it'll work?" Carter asked.

"His numbers are. . . and he is. . . and the math doesn't. . . ." Radek threw his hands up in frustration. "No."

"Rodney," Carter said, still behind him, "I considered overloading it, too, but I couldn't get simulations to work."

McKay fought the smirk that spread across his lips. "Well, Sam, I guess I beat you and Radek on this one."

There was a long pause. Then: "Do you have something I could look at?"

McKay bobbed his head. "'Course. It's on the tablet. Feel free."

Another long pause. Sheppard this time: "McKay, you left the tablet in the other universe."

Oh yeah.

He moved to the generator. "Doesn't matter anyway," he said, his finger poised above the keyboard. "This'll work."

He hit enter.

His world exploded in white light and pain. Then nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** After that last cliffhanger, I earned the mock hatred of one reviewer and I may have driven another one to drink. Well. My work here is done. :0)

Actually, it's not done. There's more! A lot more considering this chapter is twice as long as the last. And I can't wait to see the reviews on this one. (Please!)

Thanks go to beta Stealth Dragon, who put up with reading a draft I finished at 4 a.m. And then reading a second draft of the end... one _not _written at 4 a.m..

* * *

McKay floated from oblivion to a dim awareness that something had gone horribly wrong. His head felt thick. Every cell in his body pulsed in angry pain.

He wanted up.

Up was away from the pain. Up would stop the pulling and tugging and moving that turned pulsing pain into shooting pain. Up would stop the shouting.

Up was good.

But hands held him down when he tried to get up. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell they were hands because the more he squirmed and writhed the more hands that came: on his legs and arms and shoulders and head. If he could just get up he'd be _fine,_ but there were all those hands.

He was cold, all over cold. A hard shiver ignited a fire in his chest. More shouting. More tugging. He forced everything he had into ordering _Get off me_.

"Gerfehm."

But the hands stayed.

His chest was heavy now, the fire extinguished by a cinderblock. Something pressed over his nose and mouth and he panicked, bucking and thrashing as everything in him screamed _UP NOW!_ The hands tightened and held, and the heaviness and pain sapped his struggle. His body went limp and refused to try again.

Soft murmurs drifted past his right ear. One of the hands started stroking his forehead, light and steady. The other hands moved away to be replaced by soft warmth, but he was too tired to take advantage of freedom. Just too tired.

He let the world fade away.

---------------------------------------------------

The next time McKay woke, all the hands were gone. He was in a warm, soft bed and the angry pain had been reduced to a heavy, all-over ache. The air tickled his arm as someone rushed by. With effort, he pulled open his eyes.

Keller was quickly, systematically pulling his monitor leads and disconnecting IV lines. She tossed something flat and hand-sized to someone on his other side. "Got it?" she asked.

"Got it, doc," someone said.

McKay's head lolled a little to the side and his eyes rolled slowly to the left, but by the time they got there, the person had moved. Something brushed against his cheek and tugged a little under his nose. His head lolled back to the right and his eyes slowly followed.

"It's okay, Dr. McKay," Keller said, removing the nasal cannula. "It's just for a minute."

Suddenly, the stream of oxygen he didn't even realize he'd been counting on was gone. Breathing without help was a lot harder than it looked. He clutched weakly at the sheets and concentrated on pulling in enough air to keep the black spots from edging his vision.

But his effort didn't seem to be enough, because the infirmary tilted and danced in front of him. McKay shut his eyes.

Urgent shouts and the approaching sounds of running steps startled him back to consciousness. Someone was barking orders. More pulling, tugging, and moving, but without the sharp pain. His chest was cold again, then warm.

Breathing was hard work and getting harder. Each laborious inhale hurt, jabbing his chest with sharp spikes of pain. Each exhale was a relief that almost made him forget to inhale again. He'd just decided it wasn't worth the effort — nothing could possibly be worth this kind of effort — when someone slipped a mask over his nose and mouth and cool air rushed to his lungs without him even having to try.

Forget a city full of ZPMs. He'd just take oxygen, thank you very much.

The shouting had stopped, replaced by low, insistent voices and the beeping of machines. Someone moved close to his head, and now that he didn't need to work to breathe, McKay concentrated on opening his eyes again.

He blinked twice, languid, drawing into focus the world beyond his oxygen mask. Beckett was taping a new IV line to the back of his hand.

McKay tried to get the doctor's attention, but his body was heavy and wouldn't cooperate. He didn't have the strength to speak. Even his eyes were sliding closed against his will.

A hand warm on his shoulder. He fought to keep his eyes open and felt ridiculously victorious when he succeeded. Beckett was looking down at him with a small, tight smile.

"It's all right, Rodney," he said. "We've got you."

With that assurance, McKay let his eyes close.

----------------------------------------------------

He dreamed of gathering the dead and bringing them home.

He got Brendan Gaul first, using the Ancient device to find an alternate dimension in which an alternate Rodney had insisted they _not_ check out the planet with the crash-landed Wraith ship. McKay brought Gaul back to his Atlantis, set him up at his old workstation and pretended like nothing had ever happened.

He found Grodin next, alive and well in an alternate universe in which McKay got him off the satellite before it exploded. He snagged Lindstrom from an alternate universe in which McKay overrode the Daedalus' system and stopped the airlock door from opening. He got Ford from an alternate universe in which he shot the lieutenant in the leg on P3M-736 and dragged him to Atlantis to detox.

In his dream, McKay shifted them all back to his dimension, where he knew they really belonged.

After several tries, he found Elizabeth Weir safe and sound in a world where no Dr. Rodney McKay had ever existed at all. In that universe, Zelenka saved Atlantis and Elizabeth, too.

As he delivered her to his dimension to lead the city, McKay wondered how many people would be alive in his own universe if he had never lived.

He searched for Carson last and found him without difficulty. The doctor was alive in every alternate universe there was. In one dimension, the two of them had gone fishing, a twist of events that kept Carson out of the city and away from the explosions. In another dimension, McKay catalogued the lab instead of sending Watson and Hewston to do it, so the machine was never turned on. In another, he checked out the machine right after Watson and Hewston were exposed, catching the situation in time.

So many ways to save Carson's life, and in an infinite number of universes with an infinite number of Rodney McKays, only he had chosen wrong.

But even though he found a Carson Beckett in every universe he looked, McKay couldn't convince any of them to return with him. He tried cajoling one Carson nicely, forcing another one at gunpoint. He tried reasoning with them, ordering them, tricking them, begging them. None of them would go.

_I don't belong there_, they echoed.

At the last Carson — the one who ran away from the disposal team instead of walked — McKay went ballistic.

"_You do belong there! You have to come back!"_ he ranted. "_It's the only way things will ever be right."_

"Rodney —"

"_No! You listen to me." _McKay pounded his fists against his legs and stomped his foot like a five-year-old. _"I'm the one who lost you. I'm the only one who can get you back!"_

"Rodney, c'mon now."

"_If you don't —"_

"I need you to calm down for me."

"_I swear if you don't —"_

"It's just a nightmare."

"_I'll. . . I'll. . . ." _It dawned on him, the one thing that would get Carson's attention. _"I'll hold my breath." _

And so he did.

"Rodney? Oh, bloody hell!"

McKay's chest felt like it was going to explode and from somewhere, alarms wailed. Carson was shaking him, but he wouldn't back down.

"I can't believe this. I need an intubation kit over here. Rodney, open your eyes for me. Wake up now," Carson said, demanding with a pleading edge.

_No!_

But a sharp pain lanced through his leg and McKay gasped. His body seized the opportunity to take in air, and it refused to follow any further foolish directions from him.

"That's it. Breath," Carson said with relief. "Good lad."

Around him, McKay's dream world fell away. He was in an infirmary bed, wrung out and woozy. Flanked by a set of monitors that beeped not so softly, Beckett peered down at him tiredly.

"You with us, lad?"

McKay nodded. Or tried to. He wasn't really sure if his head moved at all.

"You were this far away from going on the vent," Beckett told him, frowning and giving a displeased little shake to the plastic bag that held the intubation kit. "And trust me when I say a ventilator would not be a good thing right now." He handed the kit off to someone on the other side of the bed, and McKay caught the soft skitter of the privacy curtain being pulled back and replaced as the person left.

Beckett undraped the stethoscope from his around his neck and nudged down the collar of McKay's scrub top to listen. McKay faded out for a minute, and the next thing he knew Beckett was raising the rails on his bed, locking them into place with a soft snick. Beckett leaned his elbows on the rails, looked at him intently and sighed.

But McKay drifted off again before he could ask why.

---------------------------------------------------------

When he woke up again, the infirmary lights were dim.

The lump of an oxygen mask was gone. Breathing okay, though. McKay vaguely swiped a hand at his face, trying twice before he bumped his nose and caught the thin tubing of a nasal cannula. Aha. IV meds, too? He let his hand drift in front of his eyes. Squinting, he tried to focus, but only made out a shadowy blob. Um. Too close. Before he could move it, his hand floated away.

No matter; he had another hand. McKay rolled his head to the side and found it there, above the blankets. His arm, too. Bonus. Something dropped on the bed beside him with a soft thump. He rolled his head. Oh good. His other hand was back.

What was he looking for again?

He should get up.

Something squeezed his chest and tubes pulled at his arm and the nasal cannula jerked taut when he tried bending at the waist, so he sidled to the bed railing and used it as leverage to edge himself backward, sliding back and up against the pillows until he was sitting up. More or less. He listed a little to the left and steadied himself against the railing.

A long shadow caught his attention and he peered into the dim light to see Sheppard on the bed next to his. Sprawled on his stomach, the colonel's left arm hung off the side of the bed. His head was turned away, but McKay could still hear the snuffling sounds of sleep.

McKay's gaze drifted to the foot of his own bed and found Ronon there, dozing in a plastic chair, his feet propped up on the edge of the mattress, his arms crossed over his chest. Next to him was Carson, asleep in his own chair but hunched forward, head buried in his folded arms that rested on Rodney's bed.

McKay frowned. This wasn't right.

Carson was. . . oh yeah.

But then they. . . and Carson was. . . oh yeah.

But didn't he. . . fix it?

Off to the side, Sheppard snorted and shifted a little in his sleep.

McKay's frowned deepened as he struggled to remember. He came up with a way to overload the device. Zelenka was nattering on about the math. He ignored him and set it up anyway and it —

Oh crap.

Suddenly lightheaded, McKay wavered a little and gripped the railing to keep himself upright. He ended up blowing the blasted device apart, didn't he? But they shifted here. He remembered that, remembered Keller disconnecting him from the tubes and wires — probably because the shift could've yank them out. The vent. That's what Carson meant about the ventilator. Wait, wait, why would he need a ventilator?

The dream.

McKay inhaled sharply, wincing at the spike of pain in his ribs. Okay, forget the dream. Forget that he almost blew himself up. The device had to still be intact, right? They wouldn't have shifted otherwise. He might still be able to fix this. He needed to find his laptop. Or the tablet.

He reached his hand through the rail, scrabbling for the catch that would unlock it so he could slide it down. The IV lines tugged at his arm and the needles bit into the back of his hand. No good. He needed to see where the latch was.

Gingerly, he levered himself against the top of the rail and leaned over the side, hissing as a sharp pain shot through his chest. There! He found it. Holding on to the rail with his IV hand, he reached his other hand through the bars and brushed the catch with his fingertips. He leaned forward, straining his arm as far as it could go. His arm shook and sweat trickled down his temple, but he pressed forward, almost had it. . . .

Someone grabbed his wrists and smoothly pulled him back against the pillows.

"McKay," Ronon said calmly, still holding his wrists.

"Ronon," McKay matched. Then, a little desperate, "I need my laptop."

Ronon looked bemused. "Again?"

Beckett chose that moment to wake up, raising his head blearily from his arms and blinking at Ronon and McKay. His eyes widened.

"Oh for crying out loud," he said, jumping up and grabbing a gauze pad from the medical cart next to the bed. "Can't you stay out of trouble for five minutes?"

"He was trying to climb over the railing," Ronon told him.

McKay flinched as Beckett pressed the pad against his temple. "I was not. I was trying to put it down."

"There's a difference?" Beckett asked, then nodded at Ronon, who released his wrists.

"Climbing over would just be stupid."

"Here," Beckett said, guiding one of his newly freed hands to the gauze pad. "You've reopened your wound. Hold this."

McKay complied, bewildered. When Beckett turned his back he took the pad off to look at it. Not sweat. Blood.

"Rodney, it's not doing your head any good like that," Beckett said, exasperated. McKay's hand shot back to his head automatically, but Beckett tsked, shooing his hand and the gauze pad away. "Never mind. I've got it."

The lights bumped up and Beckett tossed packets of gauze, antiseptic wipes and butterfly strips on the bed. He reached toward McKay's head, but McKay pulled back. "No."

"Rodney, you're bleeding," Beckett said slowly, as if speaking to a small — slightly dim — child.

"I don't care. I —"

"_You_ don't care?" Sheppard said incredulously, coming around the bed to stand beside Ronon. "Great. He's delirious."

"I am not. I need to. . . ." McKay snapped his fingers, trying to remember. _Get the laptop. Find out what happened. Figure out the device_. What time is it? How long do they have left here? Where's Zelenka? The thoughts swirled, flitting away every time he tried to grasp one. Focus. _Focus._ McKay shook his head to clear it, but the movement only served to kick up hazy pain. He motioned with his IV hand. "What is this, Carson? I can barely think straight."

"It's the good stuff," Sheppard said. "Now just let the doc work, will you, before you bleed all over his nice clean infirmary."

Beckett reached toward his head, but McKay pulled back again. "I said no. Tell me what happened."

There. Finally. A succinct demand.

"You nearly bashed your bloody skull in, that's what happened," Beckett said, tearing into an antiseptic wipe packet. "Long story short, you broke three ribs, punctured a lung, sliced open your right leg and cut your head. Now, you can either add 'passed out from blood loss' to the list or you can let me patch your head. Again. Which will it be?"

"Fine," McKay said, and Beckett moved forward. "But someone talk to me. Tell me ­— " He flapped his hand distractedly "— you know. What I'd ask if I wasn't, you know —"

"Hopped up on pain meds?" Sheppard filled in, a grin sparking for a split second before he got serious. "Radek's got the specifics, but basically the device blew back your overload. Even though the force field took the brunt of it, you were thrown pretty good."

McKay winced. "The device?"

"Fine as far as Radek could tell. Ancient technology, nearly indestructible."

McKay yelped and jerked back as Beckett cleaned the cut. Beckett rolled his eyes. "Stop being a wee baby."

McKay gritted his teeth. "What else?"

"Keller got you stabilized and we shifted an hour later. Radek caught some sleep. He's working in the back at Carson's desk." Sheppard paused. "And we've been here for fifteen hours."

_Fifteen?_ There was just no good way to respond to that.

"Colonel," Beckett said, laying a butterfly strip, "why don't you and Ronon go grab some food. I think we could all do with something to eat."

Sheppard nodded and hit Ronon on the arm. "C'mon, buddy. No one will be up to see you this time of night."

Beckett laid another butterfly strip and Sheppard and Ronon headed for the door. McKay's brain yelled _Wait! _They had. . . he should ask for. . . .

What?

"My laptop!" McKay shouted suddenly, making Beckett jump as he placed the last strip. But Sheppard and Ronon were already gone.

Beckett mumbled something about now being half deaf as he adjusted the IV pump. "I've dialed down your dose. Should clear your head in a bit." He pulled up a stool. "How're you feeling?"

McKay leaned back against the pillows, suddenly worn out, as if the question was just one thing too much for his body and brain to handle. "Worse than hit-by-a-car," he admitted. "Uh, better than fed-on-by-Wraith."

"Well, it could have been much worse. Your Dr. Keller did well."

"She did?" McKay closed his eyes. Just for a second, he promised himself.

"Aye. She got you stabilized. She had the forethought to put your medical info on a PDA and give it to the colonel before you shifted so we could handle the situation here. And just in case that didn't work, she pinned a note to your shirt."

McKay opened one eye. "What?"

Beckett smiled. "I know. But it was ingenious. If the PDA didn't work or if you got separated from the colonel, all the basic information was there."

"Huh." McKay closed his eyes again.

"It's good to know someone's taking care of you lot if I'm not there."

"Mmhmm."

"Listen, Rodney, before you go back to sleep, I wanted to talk to you."

"'kay."

"Colonel Sheppard told me about how you were acting before you tried overloading that device. You hadn't slept. You weren't exactly rational. When you were here, though, I was too wrapped up in my own grief to see you were in trouble."

McKay's eyes flew open. Was Carson apologizing to him? "Are you apologizing to me?"

"If I'd paid more attention, you wouldn't have —"

"Carson," he said, grunting as he grasped the railing and sat up again, "I didn't go that far off the deep end. Certainly not so far that you should have noticed first."

"You almost blew yourself up."

"Yes, well, it happens sometimes."

Beckett laughed a little "That's true. And you should really stop doing that." He looked down, brushing invisible lint from the knee of his pants. "But I should have been more aware of what was going on."

He screwed up and Carson was feeling responsible? How did that work?

Beckett stood. "Let's take a look at your ribs, make sure your little escape attempt didn't cause any more damage."

McKay leaned against the pillows as Beckett carefully lifted up his scrub top to reveal a band of white bandages.

"Carson," he said, shifting uncomfortably as Beckett prodded along the edge of a sore spot. "You know, you have nothing to be sorry for. I knew overloading it probably wouldn't work but I went ahead with it anyway."

"You didn't have anything else to try," Beckett said, distracted.

"There were other things that I could have done. More rational things."

"But they would have taken more time."

"They would have taken more time," McKay agreed, starting to drift again. "And they would have taken more effort, been more dangerous. They would have worked."

Beckett stopped prodding at his ribs and looked at him, eyebrows knit. "Did you just say 'They would have worked'?"

Huh? McKay frowned. "No. I said _wouldn't_ have worked."

Beckett lowered the scrub top, carefully edging it around the bandage, but his eyes never left McKay's face. "Rodney —"

"Hovno!" Radek burst into the room, brandishing the tablet PC.

At the same moment, Ronon burst in from the corridor, his blaster drawn.

Their announcement was in unison. "We have a problem."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Over 200 reviews! Holy freakin' cow. (I didn't pass out as I predicted in the Ch. 7 author's note, but I did feel unabashedly giddy and generally euphoric. . . which, if you think about it, is way better than fainting anyway.)

Sorry this is a couple of days late. I got sidetracked with another story ("Climb"). It wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote and posted it. What's a writer to do?

Thanks go to beta Stealth Dragon. And thank you to everyone who's reviewed. Heck, thank you to anyone who's stuck with the story-- whether you reviewed or not. (If you'd like to review, however, there's still time! A couple of more chapters to go after this one. I'd hate for anyone to miss out on the great and wonderful fun that is reviewing. :0)

* * *

Their explanations ran together, Radek's Czech-accented words tumbling under Ronon's gruff ones. McKay had never seen Radek interrupt Ronon, let alone try to talk over him, and the fact he was forcefully unwilling to yield the floor to the big Satedan screamed _important_! 

McKay got "device," "dimensions," and "cross" from Radek. But Ronon's words were the ones that caught him.

"Aiden Ford?" McKay exclaimed loud enough to be heard over Ronon and Radek together and silence the two men. He gaped at Beckett. "Is the IV still messing with my head or did he just say Sheppard's out there talking to Ford?"

Eyes wide, Beckett looked just as stunned. "Aye, he did."

"But Ford isn't — "

"No."

"Because when we compared universes, you said — "

"And he did," Beckett said helplessly. "Just the same as yours."

McKay looked at him askance, almost accusingly. "Well apparently not, because he's alive and well and having a chat with . . . ." he trailed off as his gaze fell on Radek. The other scientist nodded miserably and McKay felt his heart stutter a beat. "No. No, no, no, no, no. We've been stable for four shifts now. _Four._ Nothing different except the length of time we spend here and there, and even that's been predictable. Nothing new has happened to alter — "

"Nothing new?" Radek asked, incredulous, raising the tablet in a gesture that suggested he'd like to throw it at McKay. "Do you remember why you're in that bed?"

McKay's grip tightened on the rail. "Oh I did not do this. Do not go blaming this on me."

"I'm not blaming," Radek said in a tone that contradicted his words. "Maybe this would have happened eventually, yes. But your attempt to overload the device hastened the thinning of the barriers between realities and now —"

But rather than continue the argument McKay started yanking heart monitor leads from his chest, wincing as each pad pulled at his sore skin but moving adrenaline-surge fast.

"Bugger!" Beckett exclaimed and jolted forward just as McKay yanked off the last lead, sending the heart monitor into a high-pitched wail. Beckett slapped off the alarm with one hand and used the other one to snag McKay's wrist just as he started ripping his IV tape away. "Rodney — "

McKay wrenched his hand free and continued tearing at the tape, his frenzy leaving him slightly out of breath. "This is so incredibly, horribly, disastrously not good, Carson, you have no idea."

Beckett caught his wrist again and this time held it as McKay tried to jerk away. "Aye, the barriers have thinned so drastically that dimensions are starting to bleed together. I'm not oblivious," Beckett said off McKay's astonished look. "Now calm down." His eyes flicked to Ronon. "Is the colonel all right out there with Lieutenant Ford?"

"For the moment. They're talking about the duty roster."

McKay blinked. "What?"

"Ford said it was lucky he ran into Sheppard because he had a question about the duty roster."

McKay looked at the blaster still in Ronon's hand. "Your holding him at gunpoint didn't clue him in?"

"He thought I was kidding." Ronon grunted. "Asked if we were still on to spar tomorrow."

"The colonel told you to inform us of this new development while he kept Lieutenant Ford busy," Beckett surmised. Ronon grunted again, a clear and unhappy _well_ _it certainly wasn't my stupid idea to leave him. _

Beckett's grip had loosened and McKay pulled his wrist away. "Get this stuff off me, Carson. Nap time's over."

Beckett's jaw set hard and McKay got ready for a fight. He had a hundred and one reasons why he needed to get out of that infirmary _now, _and he was prepared to spout every single one of them until he either A) convinced Beckett he was right, or B) bought enough time to surreptitiously disconnect himself.

"Dr. Beckett," Radek broke in, his voice slightly tremulous. "You better unhook him from the machines."

Beckett glared at him. "Son, I'm sure you're trying to help, but —"

"No," Radek said, tapping his head with a grimace. "We're about to shift."

McKay didn't feel anything. He was hazy, yes. His chest twinged at odd intervals and his muscles felt thick, heavy. Headache, though? No. Vertigo? No. He was half-convinced that Radek was crying wolf to get Beckett to release him, but the Czech scientist looked vaguely ill as he hurried to the backroom muttering about retrieving the laptops. McKay knew he wasn't that good an actor.

"I don't feel the shift coming," he said worriedly as Beckett swiftly slid the IV needle from the back of his hand.

"You probably wouldn't feel a puddle jumper landing on you right now. The good drugs, remember?" Beckett told him as he pulled off the pulse ox. He paused and gave McKay a stern look. "Under no circumstances are you to consider this a release from the infirmary, you understand? You are too weak to go traipsing around the city. Your body cannot handle the stress right now."

McKay nodded in a way he hoped conveyed sincerity. "Of course."

Beckett narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. With little choice, he removed the nasal cannula, the thin plastic tickling the inside of McKay's nose as it was lifted away. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, McKay sneezed once, twice, three times, reflex closing his eyes. When he opened them again, sniffling a little, Beckett was gone.

He meant to hop off the bed and sprint to his lab. Instead, he slid off and landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor.

He was spending way too much time on the floor lately.

"You okay?" Ronon asked, helping him up. "Leg?"

"Yeah, it just went out from under me." Either the pain meds were fleeing his system faster than any pain meds in the history of pharmaceuticals or the fall had seriously aggravated the gash in his leg. He was certainly feeling something now — prickling fire along his right calf.

"Wheelchair?" Ronon asked, eyeing the way McKay rubbed at the leg.

"Uh, no. Yes. No."

Ronon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Damn his pride. Wheels would get him to the lab fastest.

--------------------------------------------------------------

McKay's ribs protested any stress, including the strain of wheeling the chair, so Ronon pushed, moving swiftly through the city's darkened halls as Radek jogged behind.

"A pinpoint explosion, localized and focused at the device's power source," McKay called behind him, tossing the suggestion just loud enough to be heard over the huff-puff of Radek's breath and the soft squeak of the chair's rubber wheels on the floor.

"We still can't locate the power source, Rodney," Radek said with exasperation. "And an explosion may only hasten the entropic cascade — "

"Fine, fine. We don't destroy it. We, uh, go the other way. Boost it, prop it up to solidify the barriers between dimensions. We can use the naquadah generators supplemented by the ZedPM and —"

"We don't have anywhere close to the kind of power it would take to sustain that for any length of time. It might buy us two, three minutes, but then the city would be completely without power and we'd be back —"

"— to square one, yes." He fairly growled in frustration. "Dammit!"

He stayed silent for a moment, thinking, watching the darkened side corridors skim by. Blackness. . . blackness. . . Sheppard. . . blackness. . . .

"Stop!" McKay shouted, barely resisting the impulse to grab the speeding wheels. "Ronon, turn around. Go back. Go, go, go. Sheppard's hurt. Second corridor on the right."

Ronon whirled the chair around so fast that McKay lurched forward, just managing to hang on to the arm rests as they did an about-face. Then suddenly they were there: Sheppard was slumped against the wall unconscious, one knee drawn to his chest, the other leg straight out in front of him. His face was pale, stark against his dark clothes and the shadowed hallway.

Ronon stopped the wheelchair just inside the side corridor and rushed to his side. "Sheppard. Hey, Sheppard," he said, doing a visual sweep for injuries. McKay noticed the dark spot on the side of Sheppard's shirt just as Ronon did. The Satedan carefully peeled the shirt up to reveal a bloody bullet wound just under Sheppard's ribcage.

"How bad is it?" Radek asked from behind McKay.

Ronon cautiously prodded the area around the hole, his fingers sliding on the slick blood. "Bullet's still in there."

Sheppard suddenly jerked awake, gasping as Ronon's fingers came too close to the wound. "Shit!" he said, panting out of pain or because breathing was a problem or both. "Nice to see you guys, but knock it the hell off with the touching."

Ronon lowered the shirt. "Ford do this?"

Sheppard shook his head a little and laid a protective hand over his side. "He shifted. Guy in a Genii uniform caught me as I was coming back to the infirmary. We traded gunfire. He's three corridors back. Badly wounded. Or dead."

McKay didn't like how Sheppard kept panting, how his sentences got shorter and shorter, how sweat dampened his hairline. "Ronon."

Ronon nodded. He saw it, too. "All right, Sheppard, let's get you back to the doc."

He slid one arm behind Sheppard's back and another under his legs and started to lift when the sickening thwack of a bullet hitting body came from behind McKay.

Ronon couldn't move fast enough to catch Radek as he fell.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Wow... I think shooting Radek got a bigger response than bringing Carson back from the dead! Go figure. ;0)

I thought this was going to be the second-to-the-last chaper, but it looks like it'll be third-to-last. (At least that's the plan du jour.) So two more to go. Thanks go to beta Stealth Dragon. And thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I've said this before and I'll say it again-- reviews are even better than chocolate.

Enjoy...

* * *

McKay scrambled out of the wheelchair, banging his bad leg and landing painfully on his side. He crawled to where Radek had fallen in the main hallway, staying low as a trio of bullets whizzed just over his head and pounded into the wall behind him. Ronon appeared above him, laying cover fire with his blaster. 

Radek was unconscious, breathing shallow but breathing. Ducking his head so low that his chin brushed against the other man's stomach, McKay grabbed Radek's collar and belt and pulled him into the side corridor, ignoring the sharp protest from his own ribs. When he straightened up, his chin was wet with Radek's blood.

"Oh crap. Oh really fucking crap," he said, tugging up Radek's shirt, desperately wishing he wouldn't find the damage he knew he was going to find.

Sheppard's wound had been slick with blood but didn't bleed profusely. Radek's was positively gushing.

McKay pressed his hands over the bullet hole, trying not to panic at the blood that bubbled up and seeped between his fingers. The sound of weapons' fire told him Ronon was otherwise occupied. McKay was on his own.

He swiveled his head, frantically searching the dark corridor. He needed cloth, gauze, material — _somethingsomethingsomething to help stop this bleeding_. Their tac vests had dressings and bandages, but he was in infirmary scrubs and Radek wasn't wearing his vest. A quick glance confirmed Sheppard didn't have his on either.

"And you're the one who wanted us to bring them in the first place," McKay snarled, even though his quick glance had also confirmed Sheppard was unconscious again.

_Dammit!_ He should have seen this coming. With Ford's appearance he knew the barriers were breaking down. He should have planned for this kind of danger, should have left Radek in the infirmary or at least brought an emergency med kit. But noooo! He had to run head first into a hostile situation with nothing but the clothes on his back, dragging his friends —

The clothes on his back.

Maintaining pressure with one hand, McKay grabbed the back of his scrub top with the other and hauled it over his head.

"Sorry, Radek, not exactly sterile. But you're not leaving me much choice here," he said under his breath, one-handedly flipping the sides of the shirt together until it folded into some semblance of a square. "If you'd like to stop bleeding now, however, we can forget the whole thing. . . ."

McKay moved his hand and slapped the homemade dressing down in its place. Red immediately seeped through the white, and he pressed down again with both hands.

"All right, then. We'll call that a 'no.'"

An eerie quiet settled in the corridor and McKay looked up to see Ronon holstering his blaster. Except for a bullet graze that cut a red, jagged line across his upper left arm, he appeared unhurt

"How many?" McKay asked.

"Two, then a third showed up. Got them all." Ronon crouched on the other side of Radek. "How's he doing?"

"I'm guessing the massive bleeding means 'bad.'" He adjusted his hands to get better pressure. "Check his pulse. I haven't had a free hand."

Ronon pressed his fingers against Radek's neck. "Thready."

McKay nodded. He didn't expect anything else. "Okay, you need to. . . and I can't. . . so we need to find a way to. . . got it! Belt. Ronon, undo his belt and take it out of the loops."

Ronon gave him an odd look but began unbuckling the belt. "What am I doing this for?"

"I have a two-part plan. One: we secure the belt around his abdomen to keep pressure on the dressing. Should hold him long enough to get him to the infirmary."

Ronon raised an eyebrow as he slid the belt under Radek. "Think that'll work?"

"No. But it's all we've got."

As McKay slowly slid his hands away, Ronon cinched the belt over the dressing. It didn't seem to make things worse, at least, and McKay breathed a slow sigh of relief.

Now came the hard part.

"Two: you leave me here."

-----------------------------------------------------------

Their argument was heated but short — not because Ronon agreed with him but because they both knew Radek didn't have the time to spare.

"I can't stand, let alone walk. Forget it if we needed to run," McKay said as Ronon set Radek, who was still unconscious, in the wheelchair. "At best I'd slow you down. At worst I'd get us all killed by whatever roving Genii are out there."

"We don't leave people behind," Ronon growled, checking Radek's belt to make sure it was still secure around the dressing.

"And thank god for that. I'm not signing up for a suicide mission here," McKay said. "I'll stay hunkered down. This is a dark, side corridor; no one will look here." _Maybe._ "It'll take you five minutes to get to the infirmary. You send someone back and I'm alone ten minutes, tops. Tell whoever it is to run."

Ronon didn't answer. Jaw clenched, body stiff in anger, he moved to Sheppard, took his sidearm and checked the remaining ammo in the clip. Popping the clip back in, he handed the gun to McKay. "Fine," he said, making the word sound like a curse. "But if you see anyone —"

"Yes, yes. Shoot first ask questions later," McKay said, accepting the 9mm. His hands were slick with Radek's blood and he fumbled the weapon, catching it at the last second before it hit the floor. Ronon looked at him, level. McKay ignored it as he wiped his hands on the thighs of his scrub pants. "Go."

A moment later a brown bundle of fabric dropped into his lap and McKay looked up to find Ronon — now shirtless — helping Sheppard up. The colonel woke, but his eyes were dull, his movements slow.

"C'mon, Sheppard. We're getting you to the doc now," Ronon said, looping his arm around the colonel's waist to take most of his weight.

They shuffled toward the wheelchair, Ronon half-carrying, half-dragging Sheppard beside him. "Wait," Sheppard said along the way. "Where's Rodney?"

"I'm coming right behind you," McKay said, pulling the line — with minimal guilt — directly from the John Sheppard Handbook of Ways to Get Your Team to Safety.

He waited for Ronon to contradict him, but the challenge never came. Instead, Ronon grasped the back of the wheelchair with one hand, shifted his grip on Sheppard and plowed forward. The trio disappeared around the corner.

Then McKay was alone.

--------------------------------------------------------

He pulled Ronon's shirt over his head, grateful the Satedan had realized what he hadn't at the time: the floor was cold.

The shirt was dark, sleeveless and softer than it looked. If he stood, he figured, it would probably fall somewhere past his knees. Sitting, it pooled around his lap, providing a convenient bed for the gun. He set it there and slid backward to rest against the wall.

His leg, he was beginning to notice, had gone from prickling fire to searing. His ribs alternately ached and stabbed, depending on whether he breathed out or in. His hands shook.

It's all fun and games until the adrenaline goes away.

Shifting his bad leg to rest straight out in front of him, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Breathe through the pain, someone once told him. Slow, deep breaths. In and out and . . . dammit, breathing caused the pain. He opened his eyes and looked around the space for something, anything. A distraction. He needed a distraction.

A black lump in the main corridor. Radek's pack.

It would have computers. Computers meant he could work. Work was a distraction.

He just needed to get to the pack.

He closed his eyes again. Work might be appealing, but crawling to get it was not. Ronon left two minutes ago, which meant he had eight minutes to go. He could wait. Waiting in pain was nothing. Waiting in pain under the ocean while hallucinating, now that was something he wasn't eager to repeat and this —

Oh jeez.

The pack was in the main corridor.

He cracked his eyes open and stared at the black lump. It might as well have been a blinking beacon, a signal blaring _man here!_ to any bad guys who wandered by. He would have to get it.

It was only ten feet away. He could do ten feet. Well, ten up and ten back. Twenty feet. . . . .

McKay set the gun down and, with a groan, shoved away from the wall and started the long, slow crawl to the pack. When his ribs felt like they were going to crack in two and his bad leg began to tremble, he switched tactics and started scooting across the floor on his butt, using his good leg to push himself along.

At the threshold between the main hallway and the side corridor, he peered cautiously around the corner. When nobody shot at him, he reached out, snagged the pack and retreated a couple of feet back into the shadowed side corridor.

His heart hammered in his chest and breath came in ragged puffs. He gave himself thirty seconds to calm down and catch his breath before moving all the way back to his spot at the wall, to the darkness, to the gun. Then he gave himself another fifteen when the thirty wasn't enough.

Ready or not — mostly not — he shoved the pack down the corridor ahead of him and started to scoot after it.

The click of a gun stopped him cold.

"Turn around. Raise your hands." The voice was harsh, pitched feminine. McKay slowly turned and raised his hands as high as he could without his ribs screaming, which apparently was too slow and not high enough. "Now!"

His hands jerked upward automatically and he winced at the pull on his chest. He pivoted around to face her. She wore a Genii uniform. She was angry. She had a gun pointed at his head. His mind refused to pick out any other distinguishing features. Uniform, anger, gun.

"Get up and come out of there."

McKay shook his head, knowing he was increasing his odds of getting shot. "I can't." He waved at his leg, his chest. "Injured."

"That wasn't a request. Get up, now!"

"Look," McKay said, a bubble of anger shoving the fear aside, "if I couldn't get my sorry leg to work for Ronon I sure as hell can't get it to work for you. So shoot me if you want, it's not going to —"

McKay's voice and breath left him as the Genii readjusted her aim with a loud click and took a step forward. He watched her squeeze the trigger.

Then she shimmered and disappeared.

----------------------------------------------------------

With Radek's pack propped against his good leg and Sheppard's gun in his lap, tucked among the folds of Ronon's shirt, McKay leaned against the wall and counted the minutes.

He was up to thirty.

"Any time now, guys," he whispered and started to shiver.

But nobody came.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Extreme thanks to beta Stealth Dragon, whose _more angst_ suggestion made this chapter much better than it was. (Even if I am bound to be called "evil" for it! ;0)

One more chapter after this one. . . .

* * *

He gave up counting after the first hour, though the clock in the back of his brain kept perfect time and, once in a while — usually when he least expected it — a voice insisted _It's been ninety minutes_ or _two hours twenty minutes_ or _three hours_. . . . 

_You know Ronon didn't make it._

He tried to work, pulling one of the twin laptops from Radek's pack and balancing it on his good leg. But the words and numbers swam on the screen, the keys bobbing and weaving every time he tried to type. He pushed the open laptop aside, meaning to get back to it after a short break. . . after the lightheadedness and dizziness passed. . . after he got warm enough to stop the damn shivering.

Then, for a long time, McKay just stared at all the blood.

He'd wiped some of it off on his scrub pants when Ronon was there, but so much remained. It was dried, smeared dark on his palms, crusted under his fingernails, caked on the back of his hands so that it crackled when he made a fist, creating tiny spider web patterns around his knuckles. The metallic odor drifted around him and his stomach roiled.

_Oh god, Radek._

Blood stained his scrub pants, too — mostly on his thighs, where he'd wiped his hands, though a large spot covered his lower right leg as well. That blood, the blood along his calf, was wet, dripping into a small pool under his leg. McKay briefly wondered how that one spot had gotten so drenched and why it was still wet when the rest had dried so completely, but he got lost in the spider web patterns on the back of his hands, lost in the dark memory of another aftermath, and his curiosity died away and didn't return.

_I killed him, John. _

_Carson wouldn't say that. _

_Carson's not here to say anything, because I wasn't quick enough, wasn't smart enough — _

_You didn't kill him, Rodney. _

_— wasn't good enough to save him. It's my fault. _

_It's not. _

_It's my fault Carson's dead and nobody can convince me otherwise. _

Footsteps.

He tensed, a white-knuckle grip on the gun as he pressed himself flat against the wall and tried to melt into the shadows. He wasn't sure whether the Genii soldier had shifted or he had shifted or they had both shifted; he didn't know which universe he was in or with whom he was sharing it — so he went with the always-safe assumption that those footsteps belonged to someone who'd like him dead.

The steps were heavy, unhurried. Close. McKay was completely certain the person could hear his heart pounding, could feel the thrum of his body vibrating in the cold, could smell the coppery scent of blood that clung to him. He cradled the gun to his chest and stared into the main hallway.

A shadow passed.

It did not stop.

McKay sagged with relief as the footsteps receded. Then his bad leg spasmed and he jumped, sending a jolt of pain through his ribs. A gasp tore through him before he could clamp his jaws shut to stop it.

The footsteps paused.

McKay's breath caught in his throat and he snapped the gun forward to aim at the main hallway. His heart hammered so loud he had to strain to hear over it.

The voice in the back of his head was back, counting seconds this time.

Five.

Ten.

Fifteen.

The footsteps receded again, then disappeared.

McKay exhaled with a soft whoosh, dropping the gun into his lap. _Done._ He slumped forward, chin to chest, and promptly passed out.

--------------------------------------------------------------

He woke just as the sun began to rise. The main hallway was lined with windows and he could see the yellow-orange light play across the floor, almost but not-quite touching his side corridor. The light would reach him soon, however. Another half-hour and the main hallway would be awash in daylight, the side corridor benefiting from the sun that would spill across.

He was rapidly losing his hiding place.

The sleeveless shirt and thin scrub pants had only done so much against the cold. His bare feet felt like ice, and he tugged the pants over them, gripping the fabric with his toes. He tucked his arms inside Ronon's shirt.

It didn't help. Shivers racked his body and a new sharp pain had come to live in his chest, not low around his ribs but higher and to the left. He felt foggy, dazed, as he watched the sunlight creep toward him. His internal clock had to be messed up. It was telling him he'd been in that hallway for five hours.

It wasn't supposed to be that long, was it?

Bracing his back against the wall, McKay slid up and tried to stand. His right leg immediately gave way, the muscles and tendons screaming as if they'd been cut. When he slid back down to sit, his bad leg slapped against the wet floor. The pool of blood had doubled in size while he slept.

Light continued toward him and he edged away. _Can't let the light touch me,_ he thought frantically. _Can't be found. Can't be captured. Can't be killed because I'm the only one who can fix this and. . . . _

McKay didn't register the sound of running footsteps until they were almost on top of him.

He fumbled for the gun, his hands stiff from the dried blood and shaking from cold, but he managed to yank the weapon up just as a figure rounded the corner.

"Whoa," Carson said out of breath, skidding to a stop just inside the corridor. He jerked his hands off the empty wheelchair he was pushing and thrust them into the air. "It's just me, Rodney. It's just me."

McKay's first thought was _Thank god._

His second thought was _No!_ _It's a trick. _And because past experience taught him salvation never came this easy, that's the thought he believed.

"Get out of here," McKay said, keeping the weapon trained on the man in front of him.

"Rodney?"

"Go on!" he hissed, trying to keep his voice low so he didn't attract any more unwanted attention from the main hallway. "I don't want to shoot anyone, but I will if you don't leave me alone."

Carson — not-Carson? — cocked his head, his eyes fixed on McKay's. When he spoke, his voice was low, too. "Who do you think I am, lad?"

McKay swallowed a giggle. So many choices. Genii, Replicator, Wraith, Carson's evil twin. . . no, evil twins were fiction. This was real. Too real.

Carson/not-Carson took a step toward him and McKay realized he'd let the gun lower. He jerked it back up and the other man stopped.

"It's just me, Rodney. Carson."

McKay shook his head. "Carson's dead. I should know."

Carson/not-Carson's gaze swept over the pool of blood, the tremors that shook McKay's arm as he kept aim. He gradually lowered his hands and slowly crouched, eye level — exactly as he had in the infirmary, and McKay almost dared to believe it was him.

"Cold, Rodney?" Carson/not-Carson asked more quietly than before. "Pain in your chest?"

McKay nodded yes but said, "No, I'm fine."

"Disoriented maybe? Things a wee bit foggy?"

Another nod with an emphatic "No."

"You're in shock, lad."

McKay glared at him, galled by what felt like an accusation. "Am not. I'm —"

Then the sunlight nudged into the corridor, hitting him in the face. McKay squinted against the light and raised his free hand to shade his eyes just as Carson dove forward. The gun was out of his hand before he knew what was happening.

"Hey!" he said, lunging to snatch the weapon back, but Carson pushed him back against the wall and held the gun away.

"Stay," Carson said in a tone that allowed no argument. He retrieved the wheelchair, unloading two blankets, a small med kit and portable oxygen from the back.

"Carson?" McKay asked softly.

"Aye, it's me," Carson answered. He pulled one blanket around McKay's shoulders and settled the second over his torso and the top of his legs.

McKay sighed and leaned his head against the wall. "I just wasn't. . . sure."

Carson fitted the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. "That's because you're in shock. Daft bugger. I told you to stay in the infirmary." He unzipped the med kit, pulled out a thermometer and brought it to McKay's ear. He tsked at the results. "After five hours out here you're lucky it's not worse."

McKay watched, detached, as Carson unpacked scissors, a dressing, gauze and tape and then quickly slid the scissors up his right leg, cutting away the scrubs and the bandage underneath. He carefully peeled the sodden fabric away, but it stuck to the wound and McKay jerked and whimpered at the pain.

"Sorry, sorry," Carson said. "Hell. You've completely torn your stitches here." He pressed the dressing to the gash.

McKay's head cleared just enough for a sliver of reality to slip in. He pulled the mask down. "Ronon! Ronon and Radek and Sheppard went to —"

"Shh!" Carson said, glancing uneasily back at the main hallway. "They're fine. Radek and the colonel both made it through surgery with nary a problem. Ronon was hit by a Wraith stunner just outside the infirmary. He made it in, but he was unconscious for hours. That's why it took so long to come get you. We didn't know where to look."

"Wraith stunners don't knock you out that long," McKay said, though some part of his brain yelled _that wasn't the important detail!_

"Not the stunners we know. This one, though. . . ." Carson trailed off as he started wrapping gauze around the dressing.

Great. That's all they needed. New stunners with twice the power so the Wraith can —

"The Wraith!" he shouted, then lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, his eyes darting to the main hallway. "The Wrath are in Atlantis?"

Carson stopped wrapping to reach up and replace the oxygen mask. "That stays on," he said. "There was _a_ Wraith in the city. He shifted right after shooting Ronon."

McKay tugged the mask down again. "Then why are we keeping our voices down?"

Carson looked pointedly at the mask until McKay moved it back. "It's. . . chaotic out there."

"Chaotic?" McKay asked, his voice muffled behind the mask. He had a sick, sinking feeling that he already knew what Carson was going to say.

"People keep shifting in and out. Elizabeth walked into the infirmary three hours ago looking for a status report on two soldiers I'd never heard of. Colonel Sumner appeared an hour later, bleeding from a head wound. They each shifted right out again. You — " Carson paused, giving himself a moment. "On my way here, you ran toward me, screaming at me to fall back because the Replicators had taken the control room. You, he, shifted mid-step and vanished."

A chill ran up McKay's spine and he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "But Ronon, Radek and Sheppard. . . ."

"Safe and sound. Your shifts still seem stable."

Carson stashed the med kit at the back of the wheelchair before grabbing Radek's pack and the open laptop. Glancing at the screen, Carson frowned, but he clicked the cover closed, slid the laptop into the pack and bundled it in the back of the chair before McKay could ask what was wrong.

"So," Carson said, taking his wrist to check his pulse, "figure out how to stop this yet?"

McKay shook his head.

"Okay." Carson moved the wheelchair closer, then reached to help him up. "Let's get you back."

--------------------------------------------------------

Carson refused to give him the gun back.

"Anyone, any_thing_ could jump out at us," McKay said, his eyes darting to every shadowy corner, every still-dim corridor Carson wheeled him past.

"Sorry, Rodney. You might be feeling better, but I still don't quite trust that you won't pass out and shoot yourself in the leg." He leaned to look over McKay's shoulder. "And put that mask back on."

McKay held the oxygen mask to his face, then lowered it after a couple of breaths. The halls were unnaturally silent. Atlantis was a city full of early risers and no-time-for-sleep workaholics. This time of morning the corridors should have been bustling with people both starting their day and stumbling to bed.

"Where is everybody?" he asked.

"Voluntary lockdown. Samantha thought it would be better if everyone stayed —"

Gunshots erupted over their heads.

"Bloody hell!" Carson cursed, hunching protectively over McKay's head as the _pop-pop-pop-pop-pop _of gunfire continued from behind. He yanked the chair backward and swung into a side alcove.

An Athosian man ran past.

A heartbeat later, Sheppard followed, still firing.

"Sheppard?" McKay breathed, though he knew it wasn't, couldn't be —

"Not your colonel," Carson said. "Not mine either. See that look on his face?"

Wild-eyed fury, a hunger to hurt someone.

"Not our colonel," McKay echoed.

The sound of gunfire disappeared, either because Sheppard shifted or because he was too far away to be heard. Carson eased the wheelchair back into the hallway and continued toward the infirmary.

"Radek," he said after a moment, "won't call me 'Carson.'"

"What?" McKay asked, thrown by the sudden change of subject. "What're you talking about? He calls you 'Carson' all the time, Carson."

"No, lad. Not me," the doctor said gently. "I'm not your Carson Beckett, remember?"

McKay flinched inwardly. "Of course I remember. Hard to forget," he snapped. Even though it wasn't hard at all.

"Radek thought it would be better to call me 'Dr. Beckett' instead."

McKay rolled his eyes, relying on Carson's sixth sense for such things to pick up the gesture from behind. "Well, bully for Radek," he said. "And this concerns me how?"

But Carson didn't answer. Instead he slowed his pace, then stopped.

Guards at the infirmary door. They were several hundred yards away, but they were quite unmistakably guards. A handful of them, all half-human, half-Wraith.

In the middle: Michael.

And he was looking right at them.

"Carson," McKay squeaked in panic when the wheelchair didn't move. "CarsonCarsonCarson!"

The chair snapped around and Carson took off.

"Where are we going?" McKay clutched the armrests as they sped down the hall.

"I don't know."

McKay risked a glance behind him. Michael was gaining. Fast.

"Well you'd better —"

The chair swung around. Transporter. They slid inside and the doors shut

"Where?" Carson asked, terror rising in his own voice. His hand hovered over the display map. "Where? Where?"

Suddenly a briny smell filled the space. Something wet and cold lapped against his foot and McKay yelped in surprise.

Water.

In some alternate universe, this part of the city was still partially flooded. The seawater had shifted in.

A second later, it shifted out.

Carson stared at his damp pant cuffs. "Objects are shifting now, too? Not just people?"

McKay nodded numbly, imagining the full flood that could shift in any minute.

Carson jabbed at the transporter map. "I know where to go," he said. "I know how to stop this."

McKay looked up, startled.

"Furthermore, Rodney, you know how to stop this, too."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Well, this is it. Last chapter. (sob) Sorry it's a couple of days late, but it's about twice as long as other chapters and . . . well. . . the end was hard to write.

Thanks go to beta Stealth Dragon for all the great beta-ing for so long. And thank you to everyone for the wonderful reviews. I don't know if I would have finished this without your constant and rather vocal demands to do so. ;0)

The whole story has been a blast to write. I hope it's been a blast to read.

* * *

"What are you talking about?" McKay asked, his voice cracking an octave high. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about." 

"I know. I know you don't," Carson answered with the kind of regretful-understanding tone normally reserved for patients too delirious to realize why he was torturing them with penlights and IVs. "I'll explain when we get there."

The transporter doors slid open to a quiet, empty hallway. Carson took a cautious step out and peered around. No shots rang out. No one shouted or ran at them. "Looks clear," he said and pushed the chair forward.

McKay immediately recognized the level they were on and the direction they were heading in.

His lab.

His stomach flip-flopped with a sudden anxiety he couldn't identify. "Carson, let's go back."

"We can't, son. Michael."

"Maybe he's, uh, gone. Shifted."

"Maybe," Carson agreed. But they continued on.

Every muscle in McKay's body tensed. This was not good. "I'm not feeling right. We need to go back."

Carson slowed his stride. "What's wrong?"

McKay couldn't explain the dread that flowed through him. "I'm feeling sick."

"All right." Carson's pace picked up again. "Well, your lab's close. When we get there —"

"No!" McKay was taken aback by the vehemence — the alarm — in his own voice. Everything in him rebelled at the thought of going to his lab. "This. . . this is not a good idea. I don't know how you think you can shut the device off, Carson, but whatever you're thinking can only make things worse."

"Rodney — "

"Leave it to me. I'll figure this whole thing out."

Carson sighed. "I was going to leave it to you, lad, but we don't have time."

They were steps from the lab. McKay's hands hovered over the wheels, ready and willing to stop the chair by force if necessary. He wasn't going in that lab, and he sure as hell wasn't going to listen to what Carson had to say once they got there.

But before he had a chance to put the brakes on, the transporter doors slid open behind them. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end even as he twisted around to see who was coming.

Michael.

"Lab!" McKay shouted as Carson broke into a run. Certain death vs. unexplained anxiety? Not even a choice. "Lab!"

Stunner blasts skimmed past them, the heat brushing McKay's bare arm, his cheek, his shoulder, as they barreled down the hall and into the lab. The doors slammed shut and sealed as soon as they were all the way inside. McKay didn't know whether he or Carson had done the doors or whether their combined terror had alerted the room to impending doom, but as an inhuman howl of frustration rose in the hallway he decided it didn't matter how they were safe from the monster as long as they were safe.

"You okay?" Carson asked, winded.

"Yeah. You?" McKay realized he was equally out of breath, and he hadn't done any of the running.

"I'm okay." Carson plucked the oxygen mask from where it hung around McKay's neck. "Use this."

He complied, holding the mask to his face while Carson scouted around the room looking for something. The lab hadn't been cleaned after his team ransacked it, and the area was still strewn with papers, tablets, and tech storage boxes. McKay watched Carson's search, his stomach twisting as apprehension turned to full-blown panic.

He still didn't know why.

"What're you looking for?" he asked, his voice once again muffled behind the mask.

"The device," Carson said. He tossed aside an empty storage box.

"It's not here. You know that. Your Rodney took it with him."

Carson nodded absently, his eyes sweeping across the lab. "I suppose it's not here yet."

McKay let the mask fall back around his neck. "_Yet?_"

Carson looked at him, silent for a moment. Then: "How do you feel, Rodney?"

Uneasy, McKay gripped the chair's wheels and backed away a couple of inches. "Sick." The word came out plaintive. "I want to go back to the infirmary."

"Aye, I'm sure you do," Carson said, scrubbing a hand over his face. Sorrow filled his eyes. He pulled up a stool, close enough to talk but far enough away to allow McKay his personal space. "The colonel said you thought shutting the device off in one universe would affect the devices in other universes. Do you still believe that?"

The question seemed simple, but it felt like something else was going on here, something he couldn't see. A chess game he hadn't agreed to play. If he didn't know better, he'd say the question was a trap. "Yes," he answered cautiously. "I still believe that."

"And you still think once the device is off, once all the devices are off, that my Rodney, Radek, Sheppard, and Teyla will come home."

"Yes."

"Even though Radek thinks you're wrong?"

McKay's ego prickled. "Radek is the one who's wrong."

"He was right about overloading the device."

"Oh my god, they're completely two different things!" Without thinking, McKay wheeled closer. "Sure, the overload didn't work. My calculations were off. But the inter-dimensional physics are sound. You shut down one device and they all shut down, domino effect. Once they're down, everything — everyone — returns to the proper universe."

"I see."

"It's basic science," McKay insisted.

"Okay."

"Radek's an idiot."

"But you're smart enough to stop all this."

"Of course."

"Put everything back."

"Sure."

"Put everyone back."

"_Yes_."

"So why don't you?"

"Because you'll leave."

McKay inhaled sharply and clamped his jaws shut, horror-struck by his own words.

"Aye, my friend," Carson said softly. "That's what I thought."

-------------------------------------------------------------

It was a full minute before McKay could bring himself to speak again. It felt like an eternity.

"I didn't mean it," he said tensely, rubbing at a smear of dried blood on his palm.

"You did, lad."

McKay's head snapped up. "I _didn't_. You tricked me into saying that." He leaned forward, angry. "I. Didn't. Mean. It."

"I'm sorry, Rodney. I am," Carson said, sounding like he wanted to cry. "I know this came out of nowhere for you. I wanted to nudge you toward it, let you recognize it on your own. But — " he glanced worriedly at the sealed lab door "— we've run out of time."

McKay didn't respond. Couldn't respond. It felt like a weight was pressing on his chest, and it was all he could do to simply keep breathing.

His silence wasn't a problem. Carson couldn't seem to stop talking.

"I didn't realize what was going on myself until after you were injured. You talk in your sleep when you're sedated. You know that? I've never noticed it in my Rodney, but you. . . you narrated your entire dream."

McKay couldn't even muster embarrassment.

"Then you had that Freudian slip of yours. You said there were other things you could have tried besides overloading the device, but you didn't because they _would have worked_," Carson said. "I thought about everything that had been going on. You worked around the clock but didn't get anywhere close to a solution. You left behind a tablet PC with vital calculations when you shifted. You forcefully ignored Radek and your Samantha when they told you overloading the device wouldn't work — I think because trying something you knew will fail left everyone less time to look for something that would have worked."

Carson reached beside his stool and pulled Radek's pack onto his lap. McKay couldn't remember him taking it from the back of the wheelchair.

"And this, Rodney," Carson said, sliding out the laptop McKay had been using in the hall. "I don't think you were even fully aware you were typing this."

He flipped it open and turned the screen around.

It was list of theories, hypothetical ways to shift Carson to McKay's universe.

"You know how to stop this, how to shut down the device," Carson continued, his voice calm but insistent. "I think some part of you has always known, but you were okay with shifting, willing to let it go on because of me. Then the dimensions started to bleed together and you knew you'd have to shut it down eventually. Some part of you knew or else you wouldn't have been working on ways to get me to go with you."

They were there in black and white, words on a screen. His words. His screen. McKay squeezed his eyes shut.

"You know how to shut the device down," Carson said gently.

He shook his head.

"You do, Rodney."

Through clenched teeth McKay forced out, "I _don't_."

"There's a mental component to Ancient technology. Conscious or subconscious. You know that."

McKay shook his head again. He didn't want to hear this.

"Remember the personal shield, lad?" Carson asked, barely above a whisper now. "You control the device."

---------------------------------------------------------------

McKay felt disturbingly like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. _You've always had the power. . . . . _

God, he hated that movie.

"Rodney?"

McKay slowly opened his eyes. Carson had put the laptop away. He was leaning forward now, looking at him with such overwhelming sadness that McKay wanted to turn around and throw himself at the nearest Wraith because he knew what was coming next, knew what Carson was going to say and how this conversation was going to go, and he really, _really _did not want to do this.

"Rodney, you have to stop blaming yourself for my death."

And there it was.

"I don't," he said, flat, practiced.

Carson offered a small, rueful smile. "You may be able to lie to yourself, lad, but not to me. You're too honest to hide anything. I've said it before. It comes out in your dreams, in your actions, in — " Carson swept his arm indicating the lab, the situation, " — all of this. You carry the weight of two galaxies on your shoulders, and you have since the moment we stepped through that gate. Every loss is a personal failure. You think if you'd been smarter, faster, better —"

"Your Rodney, maybe. Not me."

"— until the guilt and what ifs eat at you." Carson paused. "I can't even imagine what my death did to you."

Like a rubber band pulled too far, something in him snapped. McKay lurched forward, propelling himself to stand. His good leg felt wobbly and his bad leg bent, threatening to crumple, but he gripped the chair for support and locked his elbows. He willed himself to stay up.

"What it did to me?" McKay spat as Carson stood, too, tensed to catch him. "What do you think? It devastated me. Devastated all of us. You _died_, Carson. You died and I could have stopped it by doing any one of a thousand things differently. Not even heroic things. Just my job. If I'd been doing my job as a scientist, as a friend, it never would have happened. I've had to live with that."

"Aye, you've lived with that for too long," Carson said. "You're wrong. You can't stop fate. It was horrible and tragic and believe me, I wish it hadn't happened. But you couldn't have stopped it no matter what you'd done. It was fate, lad. It wasn't you."

McKay's arms were holding virtually all his weight now and they trembled from the strain. He scowled at Carson. "Screw fate. You shouldn't have died!"

Carson scowled back. "And you shouldn't be blaming yourself!"

They stood there for a moment, glaring at each other. Then McKay's arms gave way and he pitched forward. Carson caught him, ducking under his shoulder and grabbing a fistful of the back of Ronon's shirt to keep him steady. He moved McKay to a stool next to his.

"Carson, I. . . ."

But McKay trailed off as the air shimmered around them and the empty lab was suddenly bustling with people. McKay recognized a few of scientists; most he didn't. They were oblivious to the two men on stools at the center table.

"Levels!"

"Compensating."

"We've got to —"

From the back, a Czech curse rose above the din.

Then the air shimmered again and they were gone.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"You're waiting for the device to shift in," McKay said, astonished that it had taken him this long to put the final pieces of the puzzle together. "That's what we're doing here. You're thinking the device will shift in and I'll shut it down by. . . by wanting to. Then everything will go back to normal."

"I do."

McKay crossed his arms over his chest. "Well that's a stupid idea."

Carson raised an eyebrow. "Why? Because the device that shifts in might not be from your universe? I thought of that, but —"

McKay waved the problem away. "No, no. As long as it's from a similar enough universe, as long as I'm the one who activated it there, it'll respond to me here."

"Then what's the. . . ." Carson regarded him silently for a moment and McKay looked away. "The real problem is you still don't want to shut it down."

McKay swallowed hard. "If you're right — and I'm not saying you are — but if you're right, you're asking me to. . . to. . . ."

"Let me go."

A strangled cry escaped before McKay could fight it down. "I can't."

"Rodney," Carson said, sounding frustrated, "you're tearing apart the fabric of time and space. You have to end this."

"I can't! You'll be dead again and I . . . can't. You can't ask me to, Carson."

Then Carson was in front of him, hands on his shoulders, forcing eye contact. "I'm not your Carson, lad. I was trying to nudge you toward that realization, too. I belong in this universe. You belong in yours."

"But maybe I can —"

"You can't and you _shouldn't_. Don't you think I'd like to snatch your Ronon and take him along with me to live happily ever after here? But then your universe loses him and how could be content knowing I inflicted on you the same misery I was trying to avoid? You can't take me from my dimension, my friends, for the same reason. They need me."

"We need you," McKay said softly.

He braced himself for Carson to yell, to argue, to insist, "You _don't_ need me, you selfish bastard," and storm away.

Instead, Carson pulled him up and into a hug.

"I know you do."

Stunned, McKay just stood there. Then, as his eyes watered and the tears fell, darkening the shoulder of Carson's shirt, he hugged him back.

A moment later, out of the corner of his eye, McKay caught a shimmer.

"No!" The word sounded close to a wail.

The device had shifted in.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Sitting around the worktable, he and Carson stared at the device. Suspended in the blue force field of the container, it looked exactly like the one from his universe. Not that it mattered. He could shut it off and everything would automatically shift back to normal.

Carson was correct. He didn't believe it before, didn't want to believe it. But he could feel it now.

And that really sucked.

Carson tapped his earpiece. "Dr. Biro, please disconnect the colonel, Radek and Ronon from their IV's and other support. They'll be shifting in a moment."

Which just showed that Carson had more faith in him than he had in himself.

Off the radio, Carson looked at him. "You can do this," he said. Reading his mind again.

McKay nodded. He didn't move.

"Rodney."

McKay nodded again. "Maybe I'll, uh, get this thing working for real. You know? Look in on you. Make sure you're happy. Make sure everything's . . . okay."

Carson smiled. "I would hope you would."

McKay reached for the device. The force field crackled cool against his skin, tickling the tops of his arms as he pulled out the Ancient tech. The device hummed in his hands.

"Um," McKay started, fidgeting with the device. "So you really don't think —"

"It's not your fault your Carson's dead. I'm sure you don't believe anyone about that." Carson touched his arm and McKay looked up. "But believe me."

McKay smiled, small but genuine. "'Bye, Carson."

He closed his eyes as the device thrummed through his body, vibrating his blood, his bones, his cells faster, faster, faster until he was sure he was being torn apart.

Everything stopped.

McKay opened his eyes. He was in his own lab. Home.

Carson was gone.

-------------------------------------------------------

**Epilogue**

McKay slapped his radio as he ran toward the open wormhole. "Coming in hot!"

A bullet skimmed next to his right ear with a mosquito whine. He tucked his head to his chest and concentrated on keeping his feet pounding the ground. Blue enveloped him and an instant later he was in the gateroom, momentum propelling him forward until he stumbled from the change in ground surface and went sprawling.

The wormhole closed with a _ffffttt._ McKay rolled over to find Sheppard and Ronon looking down at him.

"See," he said, panting from his mad dash to the gate. "Told you I'd be right behind you."

Sheppard offered a hand and pulled him up. "Riiiight. And you've never lied about that before."

"Once, Sheppard. _Once._ Who do you think I got the idea from, anyway?" They headed toward the infirmary for the post mission check. "Besides, it's not like you had much choice back there. One of us had to dial the gate, one of us had to cover the gate —"

"And one of us had to be you, keeping the village's force field down long enough for us to open the gate," Sheppard finished.

McKay smirked. "A rather ingenious plan, if I do say so."

Ronon raised an eyebrow at Sheppard and shrugged reluctantly. "Gotta admit, got us back alive."

"Yeah, yeah. Got us back alive. Rodney saved the day. All hail Rodney. Blah, blah, blah," Sheppard mocked as they rounded the corner. He grinned and slapped McKay on the back. "Lunch after the mission check?"

McKay jerked a thumb in the general direction of the science labs. "Actually, I've got something I need to do. Catch you at dinner?"

"Sure," Sheppard said. "New project?"

"Old project," McKay answered. "New plan."

------------------------------------------------------

The lab was empty when McKay pulled the device from the dangerous things storage unit. Radek was at lunch. His assistants were either at lunch or working out of the lab. Quiet was what McKay wanted. Solitude.

That morning, just before the mission, he'd finally figured out how to get the device to work properly.

It turned on in his hands with a click and a hum and McKay instinctively cringed. But no energy bursts blew him against the wall, no vibrations tore through his body. The device did just what it was supposed to do.

It opened a window to the next dimension.

Okay, he thought as he adjusted the device, _window_ might be a bit melodramatic. It was more of a screen. A holographic screen that popped up from the center. As long as he touched the device, the screen followed his thoughts.

His thoughts took him to the infirmary.

He noticed Sheppard first — standing off to the side, arms folded across his chest, concern and a trace of mild amusement playing across his face. Teyla stood next to him, hands light over her round belly, hers an expression of concern alone. McKay was surprised to find them there. He figured they would have been at lunch, like his —

"Aye, I know it's a lot of blood, Rodney. Head wounds. . . ."

Carson.

He turned, looking where Sheppard and Teyla were looking. Carson at an exam bed, gloves on, gauze in hand, talking to. . . him.

Him covered in blood.

McKay blanched and stumbled back a step. It took him a moment to realize he. . . _Rodney_ . . . was sitting up, talking, gesturing with great energy. Obviously not dead. Not dying. But blood slicked the right side of his face, wetting the collar of his t-shirt and dribbling down his arm. All that blood —

"— can't be good, Carson," Rodney finished. "This much blood should not be outside the human body."

"My thoughts exactly," McKay said, even though he knew no one could hear him or see him or even sense he was there.

"Next time zig instead of zag," Sheppard teased from the side.

McKay and Rodney turned in unison to glare at him.

"Little sympathy here!" McKay and Rodney exclaimed together, and McKay decided to stop talking now because this was just getting too creepy.

"You don't even need stitches," Sheppard said.

"I was shot in the _head_." Rodney emphasized, affronted.

"You were shot _near_ your head," Sheppard corrected. "More like your ear, really."

"Yes, well, ears are important."

"Sure, for people who listen."

"Hey, you're the one who — "

Carson snapped off his gloves. "All right, lad. You're all set."

His face and arm were clean of blood. A white bandage had been placed just above and behind his ear.

Rodney blinked. "That's it?"

"You're welcome, by the way," Sheppard said with a grin. "For distracting you."

"Oh, please! You didn't —" Rodney lightly touched the bandage with a finger and looked at Carson. "Really, that's it?"

Carson smiled and tossed the gloves in the bin. "You were lucky. Another quarter centimeter and it would have cracked your skull."

"If I were really lucky, it would have been a quarter centimeter the other way and I wouldn't have been hit at all."

McKay touched the spot above his own right ear, the skin smooth and unmarked.

Rodney hopped down from the bed. "Who wants lunch?"

"Well, it's nice that getting shot in the head didn't affect your appetite," Sheppard quipped, walking with Teyla to the door.

"Nearly shot in the head," Rodney corrected with a smirk. "Carson said I was lucky. Jeez, Sheppard, keep up, will you?" He paused in the doorway and turned. "Coming, Carson?"

Like a man in a trance, Carson was staring at the bloody gauze that littered the bedside table.

"Carson?" Rodney tried again, and this time the Scot looked up, his eyes glistening and a frown twitching down the corners of his mouth. McKay's heart sank. Carson wasn't happy. Things weren't okay here.

Rodney waved Sheppard and Teyla away with "I'll catch up." Then he returned to Carson. "Hey. You okay?"

Carson nodded. "Just some bad memories creeping in."

"Ronon," Rodney immediately guessed, leaning on the end of the bed.

"Ronon."

McKay and Rodney watched silently as Carson cleaned up the mess — McKay because he didn't have a choice and Rodney because. . . well, McKay didn't know why his double wasn't saying anything. _Say something consoling. Say something to cheer him up!_

"You still blame yourself."

_Oh._

Carson sighed. "Sometimes," he agreed, tossing the gauze into the bin and moving to strip the bed of its blood spotted sheet.

"You shouldn't, you know. Blame yourself, I mean," Rodney said. "You couldn't have saved him. No one could have. . . . "

_Fate. _

"I know," Carson said, draping a new sheet over the bed.

_You can't stop fate._

"You did everything you could," Rodney said.

_It was fate. It wasn't you._

And suddenly, watching the roles reverse in front of him, McKay understood what Carson had been trying to tell him.

"Forgiving yourself doesn't mean you forget him," Rodney said to Carson.

In his head, McKay heard Carson saying it to him.

Carson tucked the last corner in and brushed the sheet with flat of his hand, smoothing out a wrinkle. He looked up with an appreciative smile. "Aye, you're right, Rodney. I know."

Rodney shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded at the door. "So, lunch?"

"Lunch," Carson agreed.

McKay watched them go.

"Besides," Rodney said enthusiastically, "think of all the lives you have saved. Mine. Sheppard's. Teyla's. Radek's. Plus dozens more. Hundreds. _Thousands_."

Carson looked greatly amused. "Oh, I don't know about thousands."

"Okay, you've saved my life more than once and I've saved thousands. So technically . . . ."

They disappeared around the corner. McKay shut off the device.

He sensed Sheppard's presence before he turned.

"See what you needed?" the colonel asked from the doorway.

"Yeah," McKay said, setting the device back in its box, "I did. How'd you know?"

Sheppard strolled over. "How'd you know I was standing there?"

"Good point. We have been spending way too much time together."

Sheppard grinned. He plopped down on a stool and immediate swung it back on two legs. "So you got it working. How's. . . ."

"Good. He's good. Pretty good."

"'Pretty good?'"

"Alive." McKay paused. "With his friends."

"Good." Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "And you?"

McKay considered that for a moment. "I'm okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He met Sheppard's eyes. "Really."

Sheppard let the stool fall to all its legs and he nodded at the door. "So, lunch?"

"Lunch," McKay agreed.

"You know," Sheppard said as they headed out of the lab, "I was thinking about all the lives you've saved. Mine. Radek's. Ronon's."

"Dozens," McKay said.

"Hundreds."

"Thousands."

"Well, maybe not thousands," Sheppard said. "But you saved my life more than once and I've saved thousands."

McKay grinned at how the conversation echoed Carson's. "Then technically . . . ."

They disappeared around the corner.


End file.
